


Silver Tears of the Moon

by Ramzes



Series: Days That Never Were [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:54:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 36,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5795962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he watched his brother trying to work his way out of this, Baelor laughed and felt that they had been truly blessed. They had narrowly avoided a tragedy. He felt like nothing could bring the dragons low, not even the very Seven. Around them, winter was slowly giving way to spring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Baelor Targaryen had fought in six great tournaments and the Seven knew how many lesser ones. He had taken part in real battle where the other side didn't mean to unhorse him but kill him. He had spent his entire life giving wounds and taking them and yet he had never thought that such pain was possible. He now knew why head wounds killed. By the Warrior, there were those moments when he truly wished Maekar had wielded this mace of his with just a little more strength.

"Do not say it," his brother warned. "Even in jest."

" _Who is jesting?!"_

It was meant to be a snap but to his disgust, it came out like a faint whisper. Naturally!

"Please, would you sit down?" he added. "You make me dizzy just by looking at you pace."

Maekar obeyed with remarkable speed, a feat that Baelor hadn't even known he was capable of. But he wouldn't suffer a new wound like this one even for the rare treat of a so agreeable Maekar. It was so not worth it…

"You look terrible," he stated in one of the rare moments the headache had mercifully slowed down. "Go and have some rest, for the Seven's sake! I won't die and honestly, when I look at you like this, it isn't helping at all. I am the one whose head was almost split in two but you're the one who looks sick."

Pangs of conscience couldn't be an easy thing to bear, he supposed. And since there had been two days between his receiving the wound and the maesters' reassurance that he was going to live, Maekar had had more than enough time to think of the other possibility.

"I am not sick," Maekar said sharply. "Being a thoughtless fool isn't a sickness."

_And you don't want to sleep, perhaps?_ Baelor wondered. Judging by the dark shades under his brother's eyes, violet matching the colour of the very eyes, he could imagine what Maekar dreamed of when he did go to sleep. A little part of him felt something akin to angry glee but it was swiftly swallowed by sound reason. Maekar hadn't made him go to that field, had he? He hadn't even wanted him there. And he had faced Baelor and… and… who had been the other one? he couldn't remember… at the same time. He had hardly had any time to _see_ where he was aiming, let alone consider vulnerable parts. "The damned Warrior," Baelor murmured and Maekar leaned closer to hear him better.

"What?" he asked but Baelor was already falling asleep.

* * *

It was through the haze of this sleep, sometimes heavier than his usual one and bringing him close to the Stranger indeed that he became aware of the clumsy gratitudes and awkward words and promises of a huge lunk of youth kneeling at his bedside. Promises? "I'll take good care of him," the hedge knight promised and Baelor got the feeling that he should know what he was talking about but he didn't. He looked at Maekar for help but for once, Maekar wasn't looking at him. He was conversing with Aegon in low whispers and by the time the boy took Ser Duncan's place at the bedside, Baelor had trouble staying awake, let alone processing his nephew's words.

The whole visit felt like something that he had dreamed up. He didn't even think of it until everyone had passed through his room – Valarr, Maekar, the maesters. Aerion, of course, didn't, but Baelor wouldn't have wanted him here anyway. If Maekar hadn't sent him away, Baelor would have advised that he did.

"So, where is Aegon?" he asked and Maekar gave him a look of surprise.

"You don't remember?"

"No," Baelor said and then he did, kind of.

"Don't strain yourself," Maekar said quickly and proceeded to tell him the story which had Baelor gaping at him and then laughing. Oh he'd like to see those two wandering around the realm!

Laughing was a bad, bad idea though, so he stopped. "I hope it'll do Aegon some good," he said seriously.

"I hope so as well," Maekar replied, very seriously.

Baelor tried a grin again, he just couldn't resist. "May I watch when you explain this to Father and Mother?"

Maekar glared, anger pointed at Baelor rather than himself for the first time since the trial. "It isn't fair to remind me about this."

"It is," Baelor argued. Indeed, he had the feeling that after Maekar's conversation with their parents, even that small part of him that took delight in his brother's remorse would feel vindicated.

* * *

The Queen's hands shook ever so slightly as she embraced him but that was about all the concern and relief she would let herself show. Four boys close in age had taught her to accept accidents and bloodshed as a part of her daily routine – and this time, she had the additional solace of _knowing_ that he'd be fine. Still, her smile was a little shaky when she took a seat across him and gave both him and Maekar a stern look. "I thought we were over with this since you were sixteen or something," she said. "I thought I'd have to take it only from the children. Instead, you go and do this. I wish I could send you to your chambers for a week or two."

_Or the rest of our lives_ , Baelor thought but he knew better than say it. To his enormous relief, she didn't think that Maekar was at fault at all for Baelor's injuries and he was surprised to be relieved. But with his getting better, the little demon that took glee in Maekar's regret had finally gone quiet, so he didn't even cherish the moment their mother got to know as he thought he would.

"You've _lost_ Aegon?" Mariah couldn't believe her ears. She rose and started pacing the solar before spinning back and pouncing on Maekar like a lion, albeit quite a small one. "Is that what happens when the two of you play tavern fight? _Find him and get him back!_ "

"I didn't lose him," Maekar replied patiently. "I sent him with…"

"Get him back! We've already seen what those two can get involved in."

_It was Aerion who started the whole mess_ , Baelor thought but it would be stupid to say so. His mother might not approve of Aerion too much but she doted on her grandchildren, this one included. If Aegon could appear here out of thin air right now, she'd spank him – but then she'd hug and spoil him to no end.

Maekar and their mother kept arguing and Baelor was quickly reminded that Mariah could probably command men at-arms in battle no worse than any warlord. With four children and only six years between the oldest and the youngest one, she had had to learn to run her household like a battle formation, or else nothing would have ever got done. He made the mistake of trying to support Maekar, at which point Mariah pretty much ignored that he was still wounded and launched an attack.

When they finally, mercifully left her chambers, both of them looked wrung out. And while it was over for Baelor, the next morning he learned that the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had been assigned to Maekar to help him find Aegon, with the threat that unless Maekar accepted him, he'd have to work with the Master of Whisperers on the same task.

As he watched his brother trying to work his way out of this, Baelor laughed and felt that they had been truly blessed. They had narrowly avoided a tragedy. He felt like nothing could bring the dragons low, not even the very Seven. Around them, winter was slowly giving way to spring.

 


	2. Dark Wings Spreading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you bruta and Riana1 (always happy to see you here!) for your comments. You've been a great encouragement.

Some were lucky enogh to lose consciousness with the very first whitening of face, the first labored breath coming from their chests. This way, they didn't feel the terrible progression, the sickness, the dying. Others knew everything, from the first bead of sweat through the icy chills to the blood-choked gurgles that were the last attempts of their bodies to cling to life. Perhaps they felt the brief hours between the first symptoms and the last convulsions like an eternity. It was probably so. But no one was lucid enough to say.

Baelor saw both of them – the long, painful, doomed battle for Valarr's life and the blissful oblivion that was a blessing Matarys was unaware about and could only bring Baelor the tiniest bit of comfort because his son was still dead, dead and how could the world keep being when his boys were both dead? He felt as if he had been sitting at Matarys' bedside for years but when the Silent Sisters finally took over and he was led out of the room, the sun burned his eyes. It had only been a few hours if this many.

"Is he..." his mother asked, appearing all of a sudden. She held her breath and Baelor was suddenly angry with her for not knowing, for not being there, for leaving so many times during those hours. He only nodded and her eyes welled up.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

She didn't answer immediately. The muscle on her jaw tightened. Only when she regained control did she answer. "I was with your father." She paused and curtsied. "Your Grace."

Baelor just stared and stared, then started to go to her but she made a step backwards and raised her hand in panic. "Don't come near!"

It made sense. She had personally attended Matarys such a short time ago. She must have been doing the same for Baelor's father as well. Right now, Baelor didn't care if he'd catch the sickness but he didn't want to cause her any additional worry.

A great clamber made them both look at the doors of the courtyard. Baelor had only heard such noise a few times in his life and it had been a cheering before but once having heard the unrest of the entire King's Landing, he could never forget it. "What's going on?" he asked as the roars, threats and pleas for the gates of King's Landing to be opened, lest people broke the gates of the Red Keep became louder. A little later, the sound of a grating hastily slammed down made everyone in the court jump. Maekar entered the courtyard, still in full gallop, and drew the chestnut to a halt only when he was close to them already.

"What?" he asked as soon as he dismounted. "Whom?"

"Matarys," Baelor replied. "Father."

Maekar's face went white which made the strange streak on his cheek stand out more. Baelor shielded his eyes against the sun and squinted at it. Blood. Only when his hand came down wet did he realize that there were tears cascading down his cheeks.

"No!" Mariah said sharply when, after the first bow Maekar did to Baelor in his life, he made it to go to them. "We shouldn't get close to each other. What happened?"

"The city is fearful," Maekar answered simply and his eyes narrowed. Baelor and Mariah followed his eyes in the direction of the small figure that emerged from the main building right now.

"Father?"

"Stay there!" Maekar snapped and she froze. "I told you that you weren't to leave your chambers, Rhae. Can you not obey commands?"

"But I couldn't stay there any longer," the little girl explained. "They're all dead. Septa Aglan died last night and when I went into the antechamber to call the others, they were all dead and going numb. I stayed the night like you told me, Father, but I was so scared…"

The horror finally made its way through Baelor's own shock and grief. At the thought of his niece staying all night along with the corpses shook him as much as anything could now; with some delay, he realized that the corpses were not only dead but likely highly contagious as well. The disease was still worming its way through the heart of his family.

"And you spent the night alone with the bodies?" Maekar asked dully.

"I wasn't alone," Rhae explained. "Mama was with me."

Mariah groaned; for a moment, Baelor could imagine that Dyanna had indeed come to take her youngest with her. It was certainly a better way to meet the Stranger than the agony his boys had gone through. But then, he saw that terrible sweat and the unnaturally bright eyes. Like most children, she just wanted her mother in her time of greatest fear and the first ruthless symptoms. The fact that she had never seen Dyanna didn't matter.

"Come on," Mariah said, taking her granddaughter by the hand. "Let's go to my chambers, shall we?"

Rhae agreed immediately, leaving her hand in Mariah's trustingly. Maekar stared after them but before he could follow, a new fevered pitch in the roaring beyond the walls of the Red Keep made him stop. Brynden Rivers appeared and he looked to have fared among the crowd worse than even Maekar. He was bleeding heavily.

"They're trying to break the gates," he said without preamble and with a quick look at Baelor and a muttered curse, Maekar headed to give orders for the repelling of their father's own… Baelor's own subjects who demanded that their King either find a cure or let them run from the infested city seeking hope and health elsewhere.

Later – much later – he'd demand a full account of the lords and ladies who had bribed their way out of King's Landing once the gates had been closed and the quarantine enforced. Later – much later – he'd hold each of them accountable for every string of death and sickness they had spread in the course of their running. Those who had held an office and say in governing any affair of the Seven Kingdoms and deserted it would be punished and made ineligible for an office within King's Landing ever again. But right now, Baelor could only sit in his cold dark chambers – former chambers, - listen to the horror of his subjects coming in great waves and only think about his own losses, about the gaping holes in his heart that would not close, think and not be able to even pray that he'd be next because that would mean Aerys on the Iron Throne and with his brother being as he was, that was not something Baelor should allow if he had the power to prevent it.

 


	3. Under the Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, bruta and Riana1, for commenting.

The horses were the first ones to feel the disruption. Rain tossed her head straight up in the air and whinnied. Maester snorted. Dunk whispered to Thunder to soothe him in advance, just in time to better hear the roaring gallop echoing all the louder for the peace of night, the barely audible sounds of night birds and the soft murmur of the stream at their left. A silver moon cast a shimmering breath over the sleeping land. Who had chosen to gallop like mad instead?

"Stay here!" Dunk hissed in his squire's ear, holding him in place, because Egg, of course, wanted to follow and understand what was going on.

The answer came almost immediately when not far away from them, about a mile downstream, desperate women's shrieks echoed, drowned from time to time by men's shouts, curses, and the steely song of blades.

"We're going there!" Dunk yelled, only to see Egg already running towards the horses. He now cursed his own lack of curiosity. _What_ had he been thinking that the riders were up to, galloping like this into the night? So soon after the end of the plague, the so called GReat Spring Sickness, the roads weren't completely safe yet.

"Hurry up, hurry up!" Egg didn't stop chanting all the way through and by the time they arrived, Dunk's knees must have left a permanent hollow into Thunder's flanks. But of course, being this big slowed the poor horse down significantly. Dunk the Lunk, his good intentions impeded by his sheer size.

"Stay close!" he roared because his squire was not waiting for him. Rain was much faster with such a light burden on her back.

Somewhat to his surprise, he didn't need to repeat and they were riding close together when they circumvented the little copse of bright green trees and saw what the branches had been hiding and the moon revealed, the uneven fight between two and six. One of the newcomers had seized a little girl and carrying her to his horse and another one was holding an older one, presumably her sister, back in place as the only two men in their group were prevented from running over to help. Another scream, and a woman ran straight for the copse, dragging a second girl along by the hand.

"Hehe," one of the men laughed out loud. "Hehe! Stay here, you traitor. Stay here. You couldn't escape us even you could fly…"

But no one bothered to go after her. After all, how far could she go afoot and burdened by the child's short legs? She kept running and when she found herself almost face to face with Dunk, she screamed. In the night, with those fearsome men behind her, he must have looked like a demon to her, or at least another attacker. He held her by the shoulders and shook her to make her stop screaming.

"Listen," he said. "Listen now! Take the child and hide in the trees. Do not let anyone find you. Leave the rest to me."

She stared at him empty-eyed but he had no time to wait for her to gather her wits about her, so he just pushed both her and the child towards the copse.

"What?" Egg demanded. "Are we going to watch now?"

The man carrying the other girl was having some trouble with it: as small as her face hinted that she was and with her arms pressed tightly against his, she nonetheless butted him with her head, squirmed against his chest, tossed herself this and that way, anything to hinder his progress. The slap that he delivered to her cheek echoed all over the water and Dunk's hand instinctively went to his own cheek. But the attacker was getting near his own horse already.

"I wish you good night, my lady, and a speedy journey," he said with sarcastic politeness. "As I deliver Lord Polander his future bride."

Dunk's stomach roiled.

"Mama!" the girl screamed.

"Stay here," Dunk said, inspired all of a sudden, and went on before the boy could protest. "Make the horses neigh and trot. Send them stampeding over there! Let them think that there is a whole army coming!"

A wide grin split the dirty face in two. "Yes, Ser," Egg said.

Dunk mounted Thunder once again. "Now!" he yelled. "Do it now!"

In the eyes of those who glimpsed his emerging from the seas, he looked like something borne out of a night's terror, dark, unshaved, his hair sticking in all directions because he had broken his last comb in it after a ten day delay in combing it and above all, so impossibly huge. Behind him, the mule and palfrey roared and ran in the copse as if the Stranger himself was out to get them. He charged straight for the melee, pushing the man carrying the girl down as he passed; with a shriek, the older girl ran forward and wrenched her sister free. Dunk saw them no more, he barged straight into the melee.

It wasn't his most dignified hour. He never even got to use his sword – the moonlight was not enough to see who he was not supposed to use and it was hard to fight a man afoot from horseback anyway. But it was an efficient job. As the men threw themselves away from his path, the attackers' advantage went somewhere under Thunder's hooves. He tried to make the horse trample one of them and to his amazement, the horse obeyed. War training never went fully away, it seemed. Even after ten or so years.

One of the woman's companions was the first one to scramble back to his feet and grab his sword and that, along with the new thud of Thunder's hooves, decided the outcome. Mere moments later, the three surviving men ran to where they had presumably left their horses, hurrying to get away from the army they believed coming.

"What did you do to them to make them go wild this way?" Dunk asked when his squire arrived.

Egg looked contrived. "You'd better not know, Ser. But for a few days, perhaps you should be the one taking care of them."

"This bad?" Dunk asked wearily but this time, he couldn't even threaten him with a clout in the ear. The boy had done what was needed.

"Are you well, Ser?"

The older girl had come near without being heard and Dunk gave her a look of surprise. "Yes, m'lady," he said. "Hale and hearty."

She nodded. "Good. I'm very obliged to you."

Dunk and Egg shared a look, only now realizing that she wasn't the girl they had thought her. She was much older. _And almost a beauty_ , Dunk thought. Her hair was the shade of moon, the oval of her face just as pale. Of course, he could only see that because she had stayed a little away, looking up at him. The top of her head didn't even reach his chest. He was used to women being considerably shorter than him but this one was way, way too short. He had never seen such a small one. No wonder he had gotten confused.

"It was something that we couldn't not do, m'lady," he finally said, remembering too late Egg's lessons. He should have said that it had been his pleasure and that she wasn't this obliged to him at all… Too late.

She only nodded, bringing her hand to her face. He noticed the dark streak running down her cheek. Blood. He also noticed the fine skin that he supposed would be incredibly soft to the touch, the carefully shaped nails two of which had broken during her fight with the men. "What happened, my lady?" he finally asked. "What did they want of you?"

"My daughter," she said and this, coupled with what Dunk had overheard the abductor saying, almost made him sick.

She made a step backwards, giving him a calculating glance. Dunk shifted his way, painfully realizing just how unkempt he looked like. In the deceit of moonlight, her eyes looked indigo as they took him in.

"You're a hedge knight, aren't you?" she asked and without waiting for an answer, added, "Come on, join us at our fire. Both of you."

"You don't have a fire," Egg said and she smiled a little.

"But we'll make one."

"Better not," one of her men warned, coming near. "Who can be sure that they won't come back? My lady, they might realize that there isn't a whole host coming to get them. We'd better move, and fast. It's a long way ahead of us."

She sighed. "I guess you're right, Elfred. Go prepare the horses. I'm coming."

He walked away and she looked at her pair of unlikely rescuers. "I want to buy your services," she said, very business-like. "I'd like to have you as my escort as I travel to Riverrun to lay my grievances before the King."

"What grievances?" Egg asked but there was no time; before they knew it, they were in the saddles and on the road. And they still didn't know their new employer's name.

* * *

"Lady Malbrooke," Elfred told them the next day as they were tethering the horses. "Her husband died in the spring and his cousin has been scheming to appropriate their seat, Golden Stream, ever since. Unfortunately, my lady lost her son in that damned plague as well and she was never very popular there, so there were few who would support her. The damned man intended to wed her daughter, Lady Elsbet, and thus render all claims of hers null and void." He spat in the dust, disgusted.

"How old is she?" Dunk asked, sharing the sentiment. Whatever age the chestnut-haired girl with those wide eyes was, it was too young.

"Eleven," the man replied.

_Like Egg_ , Dunk thought. "And not one of her father's bannermen did not think to protect her? The castellan? Anyone?"

"They all think Ser Polander is better than my lady's regency. They think ruling a House is a man's job."

_I could show then a certain widow to disabuse them of this foolish notion_ , Dunk thought. "And she's going to beg for the King's justice?"

"They say Baelor Targaryen is a man who never leaves a wrong unmended." But there was some doubt to the broad grizzled man's words. "At least that's what my lady believes."

Egg bristled. "He is," he declared loudly. "He's the soul of chivalry indeed."

Elfric snorted. "And what would you know of this, boy?"

_More than you think_ , Dunk thought and Thunder neighed as if in agreement.

"My lady places great trust in him and even more in the Queen Dowager who belongs to her own people. She lived at court once."

"Who, the Queen?" Dunk asked. "Of course she lived…"

"Not the Queen," Elfred replied, making sure that his weapons were in perfect state. "My lady. She lived in respect and glory there… and now she comes back as a beggar," he finished, his voice full of resentment. "Who would have thought? We had to sneak out from the castle into the dead of night as if we were brigands. That damned plague!"

Dunk nodded, surprised to find out that a highborn lady might need protection the very same way Tanselle had. His squire had already taught him much about the human side of the highest of highborn. They loved their children, they hated and longed for more than what they have despite having so much in the first place… What would he learn from this small woman and her little girls of the scared eyes?

 


	4. River of Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, bruta, Riana1 and lexi, for commenting and keeping my desire to update alive!

Many years had passed since Baelor had last been in the riverlands. In the scorching heat of a long summer, he had stared at the carpet of corpses left in the wake of yet another skirmish with a part of Daemon's forces and for the first time, he had truly cursed him for an ingrate and vainglorious fool with all the fire of his young and fiery heart.

Now, it was as if the revolt had never been. The land stretched, green and fertile, as welcoming as ever, starkly different to the rest of the realm that he had seen in his procession, and yet crops were rotting away, giving the smell of death. The Great Spring Sickness had hit hard here, in this populous region, leaving it without men and women enough to harvest them.

"It's almost as bad here as it is in King's Landing," he concluded that first night at the high table.

It wasn't. Not to him. But his life wasn't his alone. He could not measure the ailments of the Seven Kingdoms by the measure of his own heart.

"It is, isn't it?" Maekar agreed grimly. "I suppose you'll open the royal treasury more widely for them?"

"I will," Baelor agreed and gave him a curious look. "Come on, what is it that weighs on your mind? Tell it."

His new Hand wasn't slow to obey. "I suggest that you give no means directly to the lords but found an office to distribute them. With the quarrels even more prevailing now in the region, you'll never hear the end of it. Everyone's going to think that you've given more to someone else."

As he spoke, his eyes went to one of the lower tables. She wasn't hard to find. She was darker than most of the women here – olive of skin, dark of eye, dark of the mass of hair that could never be completely tamed, and she was surrounded by ladies who badmouthed her in her absence, no doubt, but were now trying to win her favour. A hard task, no doubt, and one they weren't very successful at. While Dyanna had been charming and winning hearts easily, Saryl Lothston was reserved and quite withdrawn. She was not possessed of any great beauty either. She had wed her late husband only because Dyanna had wished to give her a good match. She was so easy to overlook. _But not when she's alone with Maekar, it seems_ , Baelor thought and wondered how many of his brother's ideas about the riverlands originated from this daughter of the dishonourable… _stop it_ , he ordered himself. The woman couldn't be blamed for her kin's reputation. Dyanna had placed great value on her advice, so why shouldn't Maekar do the same? _Am I becoming too bitter_ , he wondered. _Am I envious of him because he still has his Lothston while I gave Flora up?_ She was seated at one of the lower tables as well but in a more prominent place as befitting her station as Lady Darry, wife to the new lord of one of the principal Houses in the riverlands. It'd been three years already and still the old feeling of longing crept all the way through him. He had been so in love once. Even under those circumstances, the thought that she'd soon be at King's Landing, that he'd be able to see her often made the first faint light flicker in the bleak despair that his life had been ever since his boys' deaths.

* * *

His illusions lasted two whole days. At the end, Maekar, or rather Saryl Lothston speaking with his voice, turned out to be right when they had warned him not to do this. Because, in Lord Tully's spacious solar overlooking the Water Gate, with the Red Fork glistening right beneath him, as it seemed, he received the most humiliating refusal he had ever been met with. Even his grandfather had not debased him so when Baelor had been too young enough to grasp just how deep Aegon's hatred of them ran and asked this or that from him.

Of course, there was nothing insulting about the man's voice. Tall and proud, demonstrating every sign of obedience, Lord Darry told him that the offer to come to King's Landing and join the Small Council, recently wiped next to nonexistence as Baelor's Master of Laws was a great honour but alas, one that he could not accept. He was needed here, in his lands, he said.

"More than you're needed for the good of the realm?" Baelor asked, as calm and reasonable as Darry himself.

The man rose in full height. It didn't make much impression since there were few men as tall as Baelor but he did it anyway. His brown eyes met the King's without flinching. "I'm afraid that it wasn't my abilities that Your Grace holds so high in estimation," he said quite unequivocally, "and that's something that my honour won't let me accept."

_I am not going to share my wife with anyone._ Baelor heard the implication as if the other man had said it aloud and a dark flush overcame him. While in those long nights with only despair to keep him company he might have imagined what it would have been to have Flora with him once again, he wasn't a man who dwelled in dreams. It was Lord Darry's makings that he had valued, not his wife's. And Flora would not have had him now anyway. He knew her well enough. Such a thing was beneath her. But he could never make the man see that and he wouldn't try anyway. There were limits to what his pride could take in a single day.

Perhaps it was for the better. He should really focus on finding a new wife. A queen. A mother to his heirs.

"Your Grace! Are you feeling well?"

Darry's voice made him blink. The man's concerned face swam into his view, and then Maekar's voice, "Of course he's well. It's just too hot here. I thought the river should provide some relief?"

With Darry's attention directed elsewhere, Baelor could now find the time to catch his breath, force away the stupor that overcame him inevitably whenever he thought of replacing Valarr and Matarys, of seating another woman in the place that, in the golden days of his youth, he had always thought would be Jena's.

When that ghastly meeting was over, Maekar just poured him some wine. He didn't say, "I told you so," for which Baelor was grateful. Taking his goblet to the window, he saw Flora going out of the shadows to meet her husband, starting to talk to him animatedly. Then, they both turned to look at the group of boys who challenged each other into diving and reaching the lowest bars of the Water Gate. He supposed their sons were close by with their nursemaids, watching the older boys, and bitterness rose in him once again. Not taking a new wife when you already had heirs, that was the lesson they had learned from the wretched marriage of Viserys and his Hightower second queen. Not taking a new wife when you already had heirs. _And what do we do when we no longer have those_ , Baelor asked bitterly, daring his dead predecessors into answering him. _What do we do then?_

Suddenly, he saw his father's face, as clearly as he was seeing the river now, and he almost gasped. That wasn't the Daeron of the last days before the death annihilating his people took him but the Daeron he had been years ago, the day he had sent Aemon aboard the ship that would carry him to Oldtown. Too many dragons are as dangerous as too few, he had then told Maekar who had refused to listen. And them the brief look of helplessness and painful confusion when the King had looked at his eldest. "Am I wrong, Baelor?" he had asked, his eyes still fixed on the grandson he had almost gotten best with, the one he was now sentencing to being forgotten. "Am I in the wrong?"

"You were wrong, Father," Baelor replied. "Forgive me but you were wrong."

"Who are you talking to?" Maekar asked and Baelor realized that he had spoken aloud to someone who was no longer there. But then, a smile broke over his face, his spirits lifting a little. Because a boat was nearing the Water Gate and the figure of one of the men inside could not be mistaken, even seated. Baelor had never seen a taller man in his life – and if Aemon could be trusted, the boy had grown even taller since he had last seen him.

Aegon was coming back.

 


	5. At the Setting of the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, bruta, Riana1, Lexi, and Baelorfan, for your comments, they're indeed a great incense to keep writing!

"My lady, _please_ take a seat!"

Astrea Malbrooke looked at Elfred and smiled. "I am fine, Elfred," she assured him. "I know how to keep my balance."

"You are the only one here, it seems," one of the rowers murmured, giving her a quick look. This small lady did look like the only one who had ever crossed a river. The rest of them were clinging to the benches and if they had to rise, they stumbled like habitual drunkards. He wondered what they would do if they ever found themselves amidst an angry or at least restless river. The woman, though, clearly stood with her legs apart, shifting her weight slightly but consistently. She wouldn't fall down. And despite talking back when talked to, the eyes that stared at the river, welling up with tears, looked distant, turned inward, to some place inside her.

"Does your lady like looking at rivers?" Dunk asked, looking at her man.

"I don't know," Elfred replied. "We don't have a river as big as this one."

"No," Astrea agreed and there was something more to her voice than the words alone. "You don't."

Did they have something quite "as"? For the first time in many years, she felt as if she belonged, with the river murmuring softly beneath her but the river demons lying in wait, ready to spring to swift life the moment rowers lowered their attention. "One can never be careful enough," Septa Angarel had said as Astrea had been growing. "We'll teach you to row, just in case," her siblings had promised and been good on their word. Her girls couldn't even swim because it was improper for a lady.

The castle rose into their view, sandstone and impressive. It was not particularly large but Astrea immediately appreciated its location. In times of war, it would be practically unassailable. Just for a moment, she looked at the shores and saw the sprawled small town. They'd go there to seek lodgings as soon as she was done with her work for today.

The girls and the young squire were now discussing animatedly the water gate and Astrea frowned. Something about this boy wasn't right. Sometimes, when he was excited, he was talking… well, he was talking like someone from Astrea's own circles. And there was this disturbing feeling whenever he lifted his chin up mutinously, this sudden thought that she knew him from somewhere.

The Water Gate loomed over them, huge and rusty, and then suddenly, her vision was filled with people and colours. She blinked. She had known that there would be a flood of men and women, of course, what with the King and court being here but actually experiencing it was another thing altogether. She was immediately reminded of her time at King's Landing, although this time, blessed be the Seven, the stench was not here.

The castle was only a few hundred yards away but with the throngs crowding every available square inch of land, it could be as easily as far as the Vale where she had come from. Behind her, Elsbet took a deep breath, impressed.

"Let us open the way, my lady," the hedge knight offered and she accepted because there was no way for her to do this, with her small frame. Soon enough, her view was limited to his broad shoulders… if she looked way up.

She was long used to seeing the world blocked by a taller person's body but the noise and moving mass of people were something that she wasn't accustomed with. Once or twice, she had to circle Ser Duncan just so she could look ahead and get back the feeling that she knew where they were going, that she wasn't carried away by the tide of men and women.

"No," she said sharply when Alyssa tried to do it, following her example.

"But Mother!" the girl objected. "You're doing it all the time!"

Still, she fell back and Astrea was the only one left to peek from behind and make her way forward from time to time. She could see expensive clothes, swishing cloaks, and colours that she recognized: the Tyrell rose, the Tully trout most of all, of course. The sight of the crowned skull made her gasp, as well as the man who wore it. She almost called him by his name, her heart trying to leap out. She had expected that she'd meet some people she knew but she had managed to push this thought behind. Now, she had to face those very probable chances and the thought that she'd have to admit her failure in front of each of the people she had disappointed almost made her turn right back. But she was no longer the girl who had only thought of love and dreamed of happiness. She did turn back but only to have a look at her children's faces. Her determination grew and she kept walking.

They were now so close that she could see the details of the crenellations. Then, she had to make a quick step back as the crowd moved, withdrew, hoarse male voices shouting for room. A mounted group came in through the main gate, circling close to them, and Astrea's eyes went straight to the dove-gray little mare, not particularly big but with those unmistakable signs that spoke a sand steed to the trained eye.

"South Star?" Elsbet gasped in disbelief behind her and indeed, the small mare looked so like Astrea's own late one that tears sprang to her eyes once again.

She was so engrossed in the mare that she didn't pay attention to the way people around her had fallen back, so she stood out clearly. She looked up from the mare to her rider and her breath caught. Saryl Lothston! With a bad premonition, she looked a little away and there he was. Maekar Targaryen. One of the most rigid people she had ever had the misfortune to meet. And also one that she had made a fool out of…

Perhaps he hadn't seen her. Perhaps he hadn't recognized her. She drew back, to no avail. He pointed his stallion near.

Of course he had recognized her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, looking at her with all the dislike that she had expected, and more.

Years hadn't been kind to him. He hadn't radiated friendliness even when she had known him before but now, there was new harshness to him. Astrea had little doubt that a good part of it had come from grief and bitterness but she didn't care. Not after he had stopped her from saying her last goodbyes. He had lost all vestiges of liveliness and zest for life that youth had once given him.

"I have a plea to the King," she said. She wasn't afraid that he'd try to thwart her – he was honourable, in his own way, so she didn't think twice before foregoing the option of asking for his help despite her resentment.

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Could it be that the great man you wed has left you for another or left you a widow, perhaps?"

He was just reacting to her own hostility and his still seething resentment of the way she had dishonoured him. He didn't know. Astrea made a step back so she wouldn't need to look up to meet his eye. "Both," she said and felt a dark pleasure at the brief look of astonishment and shame crossing his face.

Maekar was clearly about to make a sharp retort when Saryl Lothston drew her mare near. "My lord," she said quietly but urgently. "We have to go. You have some pleas to attend to before supper. Please."

Hot blush crept up Astrea's cheeks. Saryl had been her own sister's charitable cause and now she had all but taken Dyanna's place next to Maekar while Dyanna, a far worthier lady in any respect, had been forgotten. She didn't need Saryl's intercession at all. She didn't want it.

Maekar hesitated and Astrea wondered if he'd heed his mistress. It didn't quite look this way. But then, his eyes fell on Alyssa and widened. Astrea knew what he was seeing.

"Go to my mother," he said, his voice softer now. "We'll talk later. The girls can go to my daughters, they'll love the company."

_So you haven't forgotten her entirely_ , Astrea thought and smiled. "Thank you, Your Grace" she said simply.

Again, his eyes went to Alyssa's face. She stared back at him right back, the sun dancing in her black hair. He looked away and for a moment looked confused. Astrea frowned. He was looking at Ser Duncan.

A strange sound made her look up at the Lothston woman. Saryl looked suddenly amused. "Bring everyone to Her Grace's chambers," she told the man she had waved close. "Everyone."

"Tell her that I've asked her to receive them," Maekar added. "Immediately."

Astrea knew Ser Loran from her time at Summerhall and he had always been known for his courtesy. He showed it again now but it was clear that he felt uncomfortable with her. He kept giving Ser Duncan's squire strange looks all the way through the keep as well until Astrea finally felt as if she had entered the square in the middle of a mummer's play and she still couldn't seize the plot.

Finally, they went up a staircase winding up the left end of the keep, crossed a few halls and antechambers and entered one smaller, draped in blue and silver. "I'll go to Her Grace now," he said and Astrea hesitated. All her fears, all the accusations she had been giving herself for years surged back with force that she hadn't anticipated. Like her, Mariah Martell had been meant for a political marriage, for healing wounds. Unlike her, though, the old Queen had stayed true to her House's word. All of her sons had made the matches chosen for them. Astrea knew her, knew that she wouldn't find much understanding in her heart for a woman who had forsaken her duty for a fickle thing as love… leaving Mariah's own son to face the music because Astrea had been in Maekar and Dyanna's household then and they had been the ones responsible for her actions.

"Perhaps we should wait for a while," she said faintly.

All of a sudden, Ser Loran grinned and looked at their group with the same amusement as Saryl Lothston just a while ago. "Perhaps we shouldn't," he said. "The Queen will be happy to see you… or some of you anyway. Besides, the Hand said immediately."

He went to the inner door and knocked.

* * *

Baelor looked out the window for a second time in this many minutes and told himself that he was being stupid. With this throng, there was no way for Aegon to make his way into the keep before darkness if then. Not without telling them his name which Baelor felt sure he wouldn't do. In fact, it was more likely that he'd spend the night in front of the keeps, waiting to be admitted after sunrise. But Baelor couldn't help it. He was so desperate for something good. Something light. Something to distract him from the despair he had just been thrown in again.

A soft knock at the door startled him. A note from his mother. She desired his presence if he thought it possible. It still felt strange that now, he was the one who could give orders to her, instead of the other way round. He took this chance of distraction readily but as he walked down the halls, he found himself increasingly anxious. What else would this day bring him?

"You have called for me, Mother," he said immediately upon entering. Her two attendants rose and curtsied.

She looked at him with a smile – weak, as all her smiles tended to be those days. The huge bags under her eyes showed that she hadn't slept again. Over the course of a few weeks, she had turned into an old woman who could not get over her losses. Sometimes, she talked as if Baelor's father was still alive, although, glory to the Seven, she usually caught herself immediately. She wasn't mad. At least she wasn't mad. Just a pale, haunted apparition who had lost a part of herself.

"It wasn't anything this important," she said. "I thought perhaps you could sup with me instead of the great hall."

"It'll be my pleasure," he answered instantly, immensely relieved to be released from the obligation of showing the world a hopeful face to keep his subject's hope as well, as brief as this reprieve would be.

Mariah smiled again, just as briefly and painfully as before. "Thank you," she said to her ladies. "You may go now. If I have need of you, I'll call."

The two women left; watching at their retreat, Baelor was reminded that once again, he had encountered only women that he remembered from the time he could memorize something at all.

"Mother," he said when the door closed. "Have you dismissed your younger attendants? I don't think I have seen them in months."

"You must have."

"Must I?"

She hesitated and a bleak expression crossed her eyes for a moment, one that Baelor wished to have turned away from. "Perhaps I haven't summoned them as much as I used to," she said. "I'll remedy that."

All of a sudden, Baelor understood. Young girls, younger women all thought his mother a broken woman, they pitied her and she hated pity as much as he did. And perhaps they only reminded her that it was time for her to go. That she didn't belong to court anymore. Not after her king had died. Mariah herself thought so and they couldn't have failed to grasp it. The very young daughters of prominent Houses, especially those who had come to her service after the plague, probably couldn't even imagine that forty years ago, the old Queen could have put them all to shame. That she had been charming. Beloved. Arresting. At one time.

"You'd better do it," Baelor said. "You can't keep surrounding yourself only with people you feel comfortable with."

But wasn't he doing the same? He was doing his duties but in his little time to himself, he was given to his grief and despair. Perhaps he had started… loving them, after a fashion. That thought chilled him.

Yes, they both needed to come out of their semi-reclusion, as filled with efforts the alternative was. His mother couldn't keep pushing younger women away because their families would soon take insult; and he had to come out of his grief, instead of waiting for it to go away. Because he suspected it wouldn't.

Still, he had lost another hope today. Surely it could wait by tomorrow? Mariah held out a hand, gaunt and veined, and he took it.

"I'm glad to be here," he said and when after a while, the supper was served – just a few meals, all of them his favourites from childhood, he knew that she had come to know about today somehow. That was the reason she had called him here, away from prying eyes. She was giving him the gift of being himself when brought this low and he was profoundly grateful. He was pleased to be sitting here, with her, as the sun slowly went down, darkness started creeping in ever so insidiously, and a servant came in to light the lamps.

As the men went out, a low conversation at the other side of the door caught Baelor's attention. A serving maid was arguing with a man and neither was giving up. His mother didn't look interested but when the pair couldn't reach an agreement, he went to the door.

"Her Grace said that she and the King were not to be disturbed," the woman insisted.

"She'll change her mind once she sees her visitors. And the Prince said immediately."

"The Prince?" Baelor asked, opening the door. "Which one?"

The question became unnecessary as soon as he saw the man. He was in Maekar's service. Suddenly getting an inkling as to what might be going on, he said, "Let them come here. My mother and I will be pleased to see them."

_We'll be glad to even see their lice_ , he went on in his head – the first humorous thought crossing his mind in a long, long time.

A little later, he barely had the time to realize that no louse could have possibly survived on the gleaming cauldron that was Aegon's head. But even if they had, it wouldn't have mattered to Mariah who clasped him to her and squeezed as if she was never going to let him go. Ser Duncan shifted his weight. Dyanna's sister watched, looking surprised, of all things. When she felt Baelor's eyes on her, she quickly dropped into a curtsey.

That was Astrea Dayne, wasn't it? Could he be wrong, after all? He was good at remembering faces. He had recognized her as soon as she had arrived at court at Dyanna's side despite having only seen her as a child years earlier. A look at the younger girl who was also sinking into a curtsey made him trust his memory. She was the very image of Dyanna when she had been that age.

"You may rise," he said and the young woman and the girls did. Ser Duncan followed – vaguely amused, Baelor realized that Aegon must have tried to teach him a courtly bow. "What leads you to my court, my lady?" he asked, waving her to a seat.

Again, she looked at Aegon and again she looked amazed. Why was that? "Leave him with his grandmother," he said. "She hasn't seen him in a while."

"His… grandmother?" the elder girl squealed.

Suddenly, Baelor knew what the answer was. They had simply lied to each other, keeping their identities in secret, so they didn't know how they were related. _Dyanna would have loved that_ , he thought. His goodsister's sense of humour had sometimes teetered on the edge of absurdity and this situation was one such case.

"That's Prince Aegon," he told the girl. "Your cousin. His lady mother was your mother's sister. His father is my own brother."

Astrea Dayne quickly looked down but there was a flash of hatred in her eyes at the mention of Maekar that surprised him. It had been her who had put his brother in an untenable position. He hadn't done anything to her… as far as Baelor knew.

"So," he said again, "why are you here?"

She told him and by the guarded look in her eyes and the things that she kept silent about he felt another small stab of disappointment. Until now, he hadn't even realized that a small part of him had believed that at least someone had gotten a happy ending.

 


	6. The Plea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, big thanks to everyone who commented.

The sun had long gone down as Astrea Malbrooke kept talking. Baelor asked questioned and listened attentively, recognizing the truth behind her words, or at least what she believed was true. Of course, by the Andal law her plea should be satisfied without question. Her eldest girl was her father's heir. But Baelor knew too well that might made right. Not everyone in the Vale would bow to a woman if there was another option, their late lord's daughter or not. He had little idea just how things were in this part of the old Arryn kings' land. And there was another truth as well stealing through her well-thought wording: a part of the girl's problems were due to her, Astrea. The mother. Has she tried to introduce some Dornish ways there and been met with a refusal, Baelor wondered. A quick look at his mother told him that she had her questions as well, although Mariah didn't interrupt the young woman either.

Aegon and his newfound cousins were whispering among themselves but gave an ear to the conversations of the adults as well and Baelor wondered if Astrea had noticed. Could she be indifferent to the not so flattering picture that she was painting of their homeland?

"Do you think they should be listening?" he asked when she had paused to catch her breath.

She didn't think twice. "My daughters are quite young but I don't think I'm telling them something that they don't know, Your Grace. They _lived_ it."

_And they would have lived far more of it_ , Baelor thought. Her eldest daughter would have been wedded and bedded in no time at all if they hadn't left… "How did you leave?" he asked. "Don't tell me that your husband's cousin just let you go?"

She reached for the goblet of Arbor red that he had poured her. When receiving suppliants in private, Baelor usually had them seated, instead of having them stay on bent knee. He thought that a part of her fear, however well-disguised, might have faded but he wasn't sure.

"We left at night," she said and then checked herself. "We fled at night."

Clearly, she wasn't pleased to admit this demeaning detail but at least she saw it for what it was.

"Ser Polander knew that I had no friends at court and my grandfather's visit two years ago didn't lead to reconciliation with my family. The thought that I might come here despite being unwelcome never crossed his mind, so we weren't watched as closely as we should have been."

"And you were going where?" he asked.

She clearly didn't understand him. She gave him a look of confused violet eyes that under other circumstances might have been beautiful, alluring, haunting – but they were not. Her recent worries that she admitted freely and the ones from before that Baelor thought she was keeping to herself had turned her into an exhausted woman who had aged before her time. She looked as old as her sister should have been now.

"After you presented your plea to me," Baelor helped her out of her predicament. "I take it that you don't actually have the means to afford life at court?"

Embarrassment bloomed over the pale woman's cheeks. Had she been unable to secure that she'd be provided for in all her years of marriage? Baelor felt a surprising surge of pity. She had been supposed to be the living link between the two sides of the Red Mountains – and she was now an impoverished widow relying on his justice alone after having become estranged from anyone who, by the laws of nature, should have been her defender. At sixteen, she had gambled all she had on love – and she had clearly lost.

"My brother and I might not be on the best of terms," she finally said, "but he won't turn me away from Starfall. And my girls would be safe."

Of course, to a mother that would be paramount. When there was land to be won, men would happily bed an eleven-year-old and not think twice.

Silence wrapped the solar as snugly as darkness had the world beyond the walls of Riverrun and yet, again like darkness that was still broken by the light of torches and stars that shone unusually big, it was punctuated by the splash of the rivers, a sound that had been disturbing Baelor's thoughts ever since his arrival at the castle. But Astrea seemed to listen to it hungrily, soak it in, draw strength from it.

"Why didn't you turn to my brother to help you with me?" Baelor asked at last, genuinely interested. "No matter what had taken place before, he's a just man."

"He is," she agreed which was no answer at all.

She was nothing like the bright girl of promise, laughter and hopes Baelor remembered from his own youth, and like always when encountered with such a change, he felt a faint stinging of helplessness. A small light had been lost to the world and misery and war had claimed a new prize in the battle for people's realms.

The sudden cries of the children brought their attention to the window that they had opened to see better what was outside. Astrea gasped and stared eagerly. In the velvet blue of the sky dotted with hundreds pearls of stars, a small radiance was making its shooting way. A falling star. "Make a wish," Astrea urged the three children. "Quick before it's fallen!"

She was now smiling, holding her breath. Making her own wish. Was that what she had been taught at Starfall? That a wish made under a falling star would always be granted? In the candlelight, washed in her excitement, she looked like a beauty, years fallen off her, revealing the girl that she had been.

When the star died and the window was closed, she turned back, once again the beaten down woman who still fought back and ashamed by this moment of undisguised naivete.

"Do you have your request written down?" Baelor asked, pretending that nothing unusual had happened.

"I will," she said quickly. "I'll send it to you tomorrow, with all the details, Your Grace."

He nodded. "Would you find Lady Malbrooke a proper accommodation, Lady Mother?" he asked.

"Of course," Mariah said. "She can be placed with my ladies. I'll love having her." She smiled. "And Maekar was right. I think the girls would love to meet their cousins."

Baelor gave the children a quick look and saw that his mother was right. Children's ability to overcome grief and horrors always amazed him. Now the two girls looked as if they had never known fear – and Aegon was ready to take them to his sisters, the fact that he had no idea where they were installed not a moment's bother.

Astrea smiled. For a moment, her face was lit up by the lively charm that had made so many smile just by watching her. "I hope so," she said simply and rose to curtsey and leave. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"No," Baelor said. "I thank _you_." For, as he had listened to her eloquent plea and watched the pain of a past that he still didn't know try to emerge, only to be pushed back without her breaking her stride, he had been momentarily distracted from the grip of his own despair.

* * *

The chamber that she was placed in was a small one but it had a tiny window and two mattresses – one for her and another one for the girls. Elsbet tried to protest that she should have a bed for herself because she was bigger than her mother but for now, it was just an untruth. In two years, though… Astrea was just so grateful that no matter what happened from now on, in two years' time her daughter would be a girl flowering, possibly, instead of a veteran wife of the man trying to cheat her out of her inheritance.

Malena made the beds and when Astrea told her that she could go to sleep now, she collapsed on the floor and soon, the chamber resounded with her snoring. The girls muttered rebelliously for some time that they didn't want to sleep by candlelight but with their mother, that was a thing that couldn't be disputed. When Astrea startled awake in the dead of night, she needed to break from her resurging nightmare as quickly as possible and darkness made it worse.

She had thought that the girls' excitement upon meeting the King and their newfound cousins would keep them awake for a while but they went to sleep the moment their heads hit the pillow. Astrea closed her eyes and exhaustion claimed her almost immediately.

The next morning was devoted entirely to writing the plea with her case. She had everything fully formed in her head, so why was she always dissatisfied with what came under her pen? It was not expressive enough; it was too expressive; she placed too much value on the Andal law; she had only cited the Maiden of the Vale to exemplify her point. The pile of discarded parchments was getting higher and wider until Malena warned her that she'd be left without one. Perhaps Astrea should have written her plea while still at Golden Stream. But no, she couldn't have taken the risk to have her intentions discovered.

She was so focused in her work that she barely pay notice to the children's prolonged absence. But when she finally looked up, deciding to have a little break from her efforts, the silence at the other side of the door struck her as unusual. At court, the way she remembered it, there had been always life and noise in the Queen's apartments. Now, it all sounded as dead as the King. The old one. Though, truth be told, the new one didn't look much alive either. Not like the young man whom she had first seen at Starfall when she had been a child. Could a man who was dead inside give a new life to a realm that needed it so very much? She went to the window and stared at the swift river, now crowded with boats and barges interrupting the white shield the sun threw over it. She almost felt like at home.

A knock at the door had her rise to answer. The girls had finally come back. "Where have you been…" she started and then stopped, an invisible sword cutting her words in.

"Who were expecting?" her brother asked and when she didn't reply, added, "May I come in?"

Silently, she stepped aside. "I didn't know you were at court," she said, surprised at how calm her voice was. "How did you find me?"

"I only arrived this morning," he said. "The Queen told me that you were here, of course."

Even in her shock, Astrea noticed something curious. Maekar could have told him as well. When she had last seen them, they had been on very good terms. Had something happened to make them avoid each other?

"What are you doing here?" she asked, trying not to stare at him too hungrily, although it was hard with the memories pressing over her from all sides. Of course, he was much changed and grown older, yet she would recognize him everywhere. He…

"In your letter, you told me that you needed help," he said. "I figured out that having a letter sent there wouldn't be in your best interests."

His voice was even but he couldn't quite contain the disdain at _there_. And he didn't even know half of it. Glorious relief made her knees weak. No matter what would happen from now on, he'd have her back. And when his arms came about her, she listened to the river and knew that soon, soon, she'd be standing in her own home, listen to the Torentine singing its own enticing song.

* * *

"Did you write it yourself?"

Astrea gave the King a look of surprise. "I did, Your Grace," she said guardedly. Was the document not convincing enough? Not shaped up the right way? Perhaps she should have enlisted the help of a maester but where could she have found him? She certainly hadn't been keen on using Lady Tully's. Maesters were supposed to leave behind their old loyalties when forging their chains but she didn't even know what this one's loyalties _had_ been.

He glanced at her before he resumed reading. Astrea swallowed, staring at the warm day outside. Being with the Queen's ladies was where she wanted to be, even if they would have kept prodding and needling her for any details of her sudden reemergence at court. She had once sailed smoothly over those waters, she knew how to deal with them. She didn't know what to expect of this man, this King. Perhaps she shouldn't have put such trust in his chivalric reputation or the biased memories of a young girl and even younger child. People still talked about her match as a great romance, after all. She breathed the aroma of the purple flowers placed all around in his solar and tried to keep her calm.

"It's very well written," he said finally, putting the parchment down, and the icy hand squeezing her heart relaxed a little.

"So you find it… convincing?" she breathed.

He smiled. "When you have the law on your side, it's hard not to. I'll take care to have your daughter installed as the lawful lady of Golden Stream, my lady… and Ser Polander won't be her guardian."

"Will you grant me this as well?" she pressed, ordering herself not to lick her lips, dry as they were.

"I can't see anyone worthier," the King replied and she wondered why she had thought that might be a problem. He was the son of the woman who would have ruled Dorne in her own right, after all.

She curtsied. "You're very magnanimous, Your Grace," she said simply but with deep feeling.

He didn't put an end to the audience and that surprised her. Instead, he pointed her at a chair at the opposite side of the table. "So, what are your plans now, my lady?" he asked. "Now that you have guardianship and the ruling of your husband's estate?"

"Ruling it," she said simply. "Taking care of my children." Surely those were worthy tasks?

"And nothing else? You're still a young woman."

She fell silent. No matter how benevolent he was, she couldn't tell him that she intended to take a lover as discreetly as possible if she ever needed one. No matter his looks, he couldn't be _this_ Dornish. He'd be shocked. She's make her chances worse.

"Have you ever thought of a new match?" he asked.

"Sometimes," she replied carefully. Was this the price for his generosity? Giving her to someone he needed to win over? "Do you have someone in mind, Your Grace?"

'Yes," he said. "Me."

She stared at him, the stunned exclamation dying in her throat before she could voice it. She was even surprised that she hadn't thought about it before. She was actually the perfect match for him, up to the looks that could pass for Valyrian. Sure, her ancestry was hardly illustrious enough for a queen but it wouldn't be as great a problem as it might have been otherwise, Dyanna's match to Maekar paving the way. And there would be no danger for Maekar's sons to put a claim to the sons she'd give Baelor with the support of their mother's House. There was just one obstacle – just one but a giant one.

"I am very flattered, Your Grace, but there is something about me that makes me quite unsuitable."

He looked suddenly curious. "Nothing that the men and women of the Vale in my court told me indicated such a thing."

Because it was old and forgotten? Because, despite ruining her life, it had been something that happened ever so often? She looked him straight in the eye. "You need heirs, Your Grace. And I've already failed to keep my son alive."

His eyes became softer. "No more than I did," he said. "The Great Spring Sickness was something that was more powerful than any of us."

Astrea shook her head. "I am not talking about this son," she said. "I'm talking about my first one." She paused and then said it without preamble, throwing it at him as if he had been the one who had failed at keeping them safe. "When I finally gave birth to a son, we were all so joyous. It lasted for a few hours. Because then, I fell asleep with him in my arms." She swallowed. "I smothered my babe, Your Grace. They found him dead under my body as I slept, oblivious."

He went pale, drawing back instinctively. Just the reaction that she had expected! No matter how well-known such accidents were, people found little mercy in their hearts for such mothers. At the end of it, he wasn't so different. "Am I still the woman you'd want to give birth to your heirs?"

He didn't say anything – and he didn't need to, Astrea thought.

 


	7. At the Rising of the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left a comment.

It was already late afternoon when Astrea made her way to the quarters she knew she'd find Ser Duncan. Ultor was with her, of course – anything else would be indecent. Her niece had asked to be allowed to come along as well and after some initial hesitation, Ultor had agreed. When one day Aurelia became the Lady of Starfall, she'd better have all the experience she could gain, and this so unusual hedge knight could prove a valuable one. Even now, she looked more at ease in the wooden barracks housing the retinues of Lord Tully – or rather, Lady Tully''s guests – than Astrea. Of course, Astrea had had some experience with the lives of the men-at-arms at Starfall but never this big – she had been born too late, with next to none perspectives of ever inheriting that Aurelia and her brothers' births had diminished further, so she had not had any major contacts with them and their abodes, other than those of a future lady of a House in training which included overseeing their maintenance. She didn't even notice that something was missing in this mix of shouted conversations, running feet, and opening and closing of doors mingled with the sweat of many bodies. But Aurelia paused and looked at her father, uncertain. "They don't have any swords with them?" she asked and it was only then that Astrea realized the absence of the typical echo and glint of steel.

"No weapons at all," Ultor confirmed. "Not with so many men here from all over the realm, not with the King present. Every coming group had to surrender all of their arms but knives upon gaining admittance."

No wonder that entering Riverrun had proved such an arduous affair! Ultor looked at his daughter, silver brows locked. "You didn't even realize that we did?" he asked and she flushed.

"I am sorry, Father."

"You should pay attention," was all Ultor said as they went their way.

To their surprise, Ser Duncan was nowhere to be found. Elfric told them that he had chosen to sleep in his sailcloth tent on the ground near the old wall guarding against invasions from the mainland. He had, in fact, erected the simple, worn out structure quite apart from the others – to help his squire in coming and going without attracting too much notice, Astrea supposed.

The tall knight was sitting alone at the opening of the tent. Upon hearing their approach, he looked up and his eyes became round. He squinted and then looked down, clearly realizing that he was gaping quite indecently, though he was hardly the first man to do so. Aurelia was seventeen year old and besides being tantalizingly lovely, she was quite the unusual blend of the Dayne fair hair – pale golden in her case, with some streaks where the sun had bleached it silver – and violet eyes and the olive complexion and lashes of her mother's Essosi ancestors. On her, it looked like a layer of gold powder had been sprinkled all over her skin. Her exquisite features, the high cheekbones and rounded chin could rival Astrea's own, and Dyanna's as well, but she was even more attention-catching because of the contrasts.

Ser Duncan rose. "My lady," he said, looking at Astrea and then her companions.

"Ser Duncan," she said. "I'd like to introduce my brother, Lord Dayne, and my niece, Lady Aurelia."

"It's an honour for me, my lord, my lady," he said but without any simpering. Astrea glanced at Ultor and saw that he was pleased. He respected people who kept their dignity at all times. "Would you like to enter?"

Astrea wouldn't mind but Aurelia clearly didn't want to lose the soft caress of the sun, so new to someone who came from the hot Dorne and even hotter Essos where she had been visiting her mother's kin. "I'd like to stay here," she said and Ultor nodded.

"My sister has been telling me that your help has been invaluable," he told the huge young man. "I am very obliged to you, Ser, truly."

"I couldn't have made it without my squire, my lord," Ser Duncan replied. "He was the one who came up with the idea of scaring them off by making them think our horses were an army."

Ultor smiled. "That's a deceit his mother would have enjoyed tremendously," he said. "She could have easily come up with something like this herself. This girl knew no fear."

That sounded much like Egg all right. Dunk found himself nodding as the pale-haired lord went on, "My sister's circumstances has changed. Now that I'm here, she no longer needs any additional protection. I'll take her to Starfall myself."

Dunk had expected this, ever since the boy had told him that the uncle he hadn't ever met had arrived. He wasn't this dim-witted. And it wouldn't be the first time he found himself out of employment. "I understand, my lord."

"I'd like you to accompany us to Dorne, as you and Astrea agreed."

Now, that was a surprise. For a while, Dunk stood staring at the Dornishman but his pride won out over the prospect of an empty belly. "I have made some other plans, m'lord. Thank you," he added belatedly.

"Are you going to leave your squire here?" Ultor asked. "I think some time away from his father might do him some good."

The undisguised hostility in his voice gave Dunk a pause. Prince Maekar was not well-liked. Why, there were those who even claimed that he had tried to kill his brother at Ashford. But that was the first time Dunk heard such an enmity. "You do not approve of the Hand?" he asked, lowering his voice just in case.

Ultor Dayne shrugged. "He'll make a good Hand," he said indifferently. "Just and capable. It's the man I do not approve of. The man who sat by and watched as his wife, my sister, was slowly dying and didn't lift a finger to prevent it."

The bitterness was such that Dunk gaped. He now remembered the rumours at King's Landing at the time, the ones saying that the Princess of Summerhall had turned into a creature repellent to the eye, scarier-looking than any dragon. That Maekar Targaryen had been lucky that the Stranger had saved him from her clutches and the embarrassment that the onetime great beauty had become. Even as a child, he had known better than pay much attention to those. Perhaps he should have, in this case?

A gasping sound coming from one of the two women made him look up. Maekar himself was standing close now, staring at them. He had clearly heard. The man with him, with hair of silver and gold and as rich attire as his, looked appalled.

"What?" Maekar asked calmly, noticing the brief look of consternation on Ultor's face. "You have said it before, and to my face at that. Don't tell me that you've developed some sense of embarrassment over the years?"

He hadn't denied it. And then, something terrible happened. Behind them, the flapping of the tent moved and Dunk's squire appeared, staring at his father. "Is it true?" he asked.

Maekar didn't hesitate for a moment. "It is."

Egg's eyes went dark as his horror intensified. Without saying anything, he ran, not even looking at them. The man with Maekar glared at him. "You're such a fool," he snapped. "You and your stupid honesty! Do you realize how that sounded?"

"Aegon!" Maekar yelled after his son but the boy didn't turn back.

Ultor Dayne looked stricken. "I… I didn't mean…"

"Oh that's exactly what you meant," Maekar said icily and strode in the direction his son had disappeared in.

"That was Dyanna's son?" Astrea asked, as if she was hoping for someone to deny the obvious. Which, of course, no one did.

* * *

It was with some surprise that Astrea received the summons to present herself to His Grace once again. She had truly expected that she'd never see him again, except in passing, by chance.

"He wants to apologize to you," Aurelia said with certainty that surprised Astrea. She was quickly realizing that the girl was living in her head more than even Dyanna had. _He hasn't slept at all out of concern for the injustice he did you. He surely needs to come clean with his conscience._ Yes, that was what Dyanna would have said as well. Astrea knew better. Why would he? That instinctive revulsion, a mirror image of what she felt toward herself, was the only emotion she could expect. Unjust, so unjust. But what did justice matter in the face of such a loss? That night, she went to sleep fearing that he might have changed his mind and take her guardianship of Elsbet back.

The summons read "at sunrise", so she was about to leave her chamber, when a knock at the door sent a shocked Malena to tell her that the King was here, asking to be admitted. It was only then that Astrea paid notice to the wording of the note: he hadn't, in fact, ordered her to go to him. He had just expressed hope that they'd be able to talk to each other at sunrise.

He took her to the lady of the castle's solar that, of course, had been given up to his mother, and seated her in a high chair. There were a few goblets and bowls of fruit waiting for them. Astrea didn't give them a second look.

The sun was rising up in the huge window, filling it with the glints of white luminescence sewn with a shower of pearls from the river beyond, turning it into a field of hope and exposing all signs of the toll grief and aging had taken from him: the sickly yellow pallor of his dark skin, the sharply incised cheekbones, the thick shadows that threatened to swallow his very eyes, the white in his hair that had grown so much over the course of only a few months if rumour could be trusted. Astrea didn't lie to herself, she didn't look seducing either, aged and worn out, with that constant suspicion in her eyes that she couldn't push away and those faint lines about her eyes and mouth that had first settled there about ten years before expected. Sudden, violent grief could change a man and so could long-drawn unhappiness and self-resentment. It was about equally unlovely.

"First, I want to apologize," the King said abruptly, with that directness that had been so awe-inspiring at Starfall when she had been a little girl struggling between trying to help her sister and protecting the secret Dyanna had trusted her with. "It was cruel of me."

That was indeed unexpected but Astrea managed to force out a smile. "You didn't need to, Your Grace. You aren't the first person to react like this and you won't be the last one. I am used to it. It doesn't bother me."

Yes, it did, yes, it did…

Baelor didn't believe her, she could tell. But he looked sad nonetheless. "People can be ruthless," he said. "Even when they don't mean to be. I didn't. You were failed, my lady, and then treated as if you were the one who failed."

She was surprised to no end. "Oh but I did fail," she said. "He was alive when she left. When they found us, he wasn't."

"And who were the wise people who chose to leave a new mother alone in bed with the babe?" he countered. "A newly delivered woman should never be allowed to go to sleep in the first hours for her own sake, let alone staying with the newborn in bed without someone watching."

To Astrea's mortification, her eyes welled up but with the sheer force of will that she had developed with years, she forced the tears back. That was what she had been telling herself for all those years, that had been the only thing helping her through those dark first months when she had been losing her mind. But she had never heard it from anyone else and it had sounded a lot like a contrived excuse. And in a way, it was. She should have known that something was wrong. She should have been able to rise and put him in his crib before she passed out.

"No," Baelor said sharply and she glanced at him, surprised by his perceptivity. "Think about it this way: most of us do things that place our children at risk at one moment. And most of the time, we're lucky enough to not have to suffer the consequences. I am so sorry that I made you think I thought anything else."

He believed what he was saying. The relief was so sweet that she would have swayed, had she not been seated. She turned her head and stared at the white river with the dissipating mist until she collected herself.

"Thank you, Your Grace," she said simply. Right now, elaborated phrases and long-winded gratitudes would not come to her, no matter how obligatory they were per etiquette.

"You are, you know," he said.

This time, she turned her head and looked at him. "What?"

"You are the woman I want to be the mother of my heirs. You made a mistake when young and still managed to make the best of it. Despite the stain of being a Dornishwoman in the Vale, you managed to win some supporters there. You survived the most terrible ordeal that can happen to a mother without going mad."

"I thought I was," she said quietly. "I… I might have done so, for a while."

He looked unfazed. "But you conquered it, even if it were madness. That's just the kind of mother I wish for the future King of the Seven Kingdoms. A resilient one." He paused, thoughts of Rhaegel, so kind and so frail, sitting the Iron Throne filling his mind with images. Terrible ones. "And I can see something else, my lady. You don't want to spend your life as a grieving widow. You don't want an empty bed or secret pleasures. You believe you can do better if given the chance. I also think so."

"But why?" she asked.

He smiled. "Because you sailed through court effortlessly. And you're quite resourceful. I first noticed it twenty years ago at Starfall when you were just a little girl of seven."

And he remembered it? Astrea would have thought that the Prince of Dragonstone, already twenty and with his own triumphs and trials, would have forgotten about that girl as soon as she was done playing her part.

"And you're ready to risk the Marches?" she asked.

Baelor had given the matter a serious thought. "The risk is very small," he said. "If it even exist. My marriage to Jena tied them to our side. They were amidst our greatest supporters when Daemon rebelled. They might have lost their royal ties now but House Caron and their allies are pleased with the match your brother promised them. And there is peace around the Marches and the Red Mountains now. Maekar has built it successfully."

Astrea flushed, guilt crashing over her once again. After she had broken House Dayne's word to House Caron, Aurelia had become the one to pay the price. The heiress of Starfall would be wed to Pearse Caron's younger son as soon as he was of age. That meant a few more years of waiting. And Aurelia was understandably not thrilled to wed a boy when she'd be a woman long grown. _All my fault._

She could understand his reasoning. For all the hostility between Dorne and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, the Blackfyre rebellion had been about Daemon Blackfyre. The hatred of Dorne and its new influence had been used as a pretext and fanned carefully more than it had been the main cause. And Baelor's popularity with both highborn and smallfolk alike would allow him more leeway now than twenty years ago. And still…

_He must be desperate_ , she realized. _He must be fearing the prospect of a new queen turning out barren more than he does the prospect of any new resentment._

"What happened at the tent yesterday?" he suddenly asked, changing topics, realizing that he should not press her too hard. He, too, was abruptly aware of just how primitive the situation was in its core. He wanted her womb, her resilience and her sharp mind. Oh, and her looks as well. It was this simple. Of course, those motives were hardly worse than those who had brought Jena to him. But at the time, he had been young and able to place a romantic cast on the situation. He had become genuinely infatuated with Jena in a way that could never be repeated now. Now, he knew more of life and he knew that this woman did as well. He could give her some time to ponder over this, at least.

Blush came to her cheeks once again. "It was terrible," she said simply and paused. "Is Aegon well?"

"No," Baelor replied. "No one has been able to find him. But what happened? Rhaegel only told me the basics and Maekar pretended not to hear when I asked him about it."

Typical of Maekar. Oh so typical! Astrea had been very fond of him once but it was so typical.

"My brother said Maekar did nothing to prevent Dyanna's death," she said. "And Maekar didn't deny it. Aegon heard."

She fell silent for a while, looking at the river and collecting her thoughts. At the time the return of Dyanna's illness had become public knowledge, she had just given birth to Elsbet. The displeasure by the arrival of a girl and not a male heir had only intensified at the news. And Astrea's own fear could not be driven away.

"It couldn't have been prevented, could it have?" she finally asked, turning to him.

"No," Baelor replied. "It couldn't. I wasn't there when she died but Jena was. She says Dyanna was dying even before the option of cutting the lesion out could be turned to deed. She would have died anyway." He paused. "I can't really blame either of them for not wanting to believe it, though," he finally said.

"But you still want to wed me? Aren't you… scared?"

He shook his head immediately. He had thought about that already. "Why should I be scared? There is an illness running in my family as well, yet Rhaegel is the kindest soul I know. And the other three of us are completely healthy. I was wed once to a woman with all prospects of giving me healthy children. They were hardly ever sick in their lives, indeed. And they still died."

It was terrifying, how the word had started to come to him so naturally and effortlessly. The pain was there, although not with the white scorching, searing pain from the first day. And then another emotion threatened to choke him. No matter what Astrea would decide, he was leaving his past behind. His sons. Jena. The future they had once dreamed of under those furs that prickled Jena's skin – for it was cold at Dragonstone. All ruined. All his for so short a time.

After a while, he looked at her. She had gone to the window and stood there, once again staring at the river, now burning in streaks of fiery red and gold. Dyanna had done it as well, with the sea at King's Landing. A memory long buried stirred to life. Something that his mother had told him as a child. Mother Rhoyne? The Essosi goddess? Was that it? Did those Dayne ladies draw strength and wisdom from the roiling waters? Were they asking them for advice?

"And if I say no?" Astrea finally asked. "If I decide that I prefer simple life after all, without a queen's trappings and everyone gossiping about my bedsheets every month? Will you change your mind about my plea for my daughter then, Your Grace?"

"Of course not," Baelor replied, choosing not to take offense. It would take him time until he taught her to trust people again. Was her vulnerability despite her strength one of the things that drew him to her? Her beauty certainly wasn't. Both Jena and Flora had been dark-haired and dark-eyed.

She nodded. "I'll do it," she said suddenly. "I will wed you and I will give you sons – although with me, you might get a number of daughters first."

He was about to shrug when he realized that she meant it as an honest warning. "I wouldn't mind," he only said and brought her to the table to give her a goblet because her pallor told him that she needed one. This time, he seated her at the head of the table, as if she were already his queen.

 


	8. Silver Tears, Touch of Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented! I wish I could give special kudos to Baelorfan but alas, I don't think the site has this option!

Mariah only nodded, a faint smile playing about her mouth as she heard the news. "I think she'll make a good Queen," she only said. "And a good wife, most likely."

It was clear which one she valued more and Baelor grinned, remembering his uncle Maron around the time Baelor had visited Dorne a little before his wedding to Jena. "If she makes a great queen, that's great," the Prince of Dorne had said. "But just in case, I'd advise you to choose wisely when you make friendships. When the time comes to have a companion, that's the pool you'd be choosing from, more likely than not." Even a lifetime of a happy marriage hadn't squashed that same practical streak in Mariah.

And then, his smile slowly faded. Maron had turned out to be right, after all. When the time had come to choose himself, he had chosen a woman he had come to know as wise and sensible, not someone he had fallen in love with the moment he first saw her, like a knight from a stupid song. And it hadn't lasted either.

"Most likely," he agreed and paused. "She's had it hard, Mother. She might need some help with this whole settling thing."

Now, her smile went away as well. She stared at him. "It was this bad?"

He hesitated. It wouldn't stay a secret for long – once Astrea became his queen, the true story behind her love match would come out, as well as her babe's death. But it felt disloyal to share it with his mother before he absolutely had to. Like spreading a rumour, although a true one. "Yes," he finally said. "It was."

Mariah nodded. "I see," she said. Her smile did not come back but there was warmth and caress in her eyes when she looked at him. "I do think she might make you a perfect wife."

That surprised him. "Why?"

"You need to protect people," she said. "Make things right."

Baelor was about to protest but as he thought his words over, he wondered if his mother wasn't right. Could Astrea's misery be the very thing that stirred his deepest instincts? He had long ago eschewed his dreams to be a perfect knight – he knew that no such thing existed outside the imagination of an impressionable child. Like, say, Aegon. And once, he would have taken insult at the thought that he was drawn to unhappiness like… like a vulture… but perhaps Mariah did have a point. His first true desire to wed Astrea had come after he had treated her cruelly and realized that the world had done so for years, paining her beyond imagination, adding to her own self-recriminations.

"You never minded giving more than what you received," Mariah went on. Still, she's like it if he received as much as he would give. "And yes, I will help her, of course. Thank you for letting me know."

_We aren't this different, you and I, Mother_ , Baelor thought, amused all of a sudden. Although Mariah had started undertaking some of her old duties, like holding court since she was still the highest ranking woman in the Seven Kingdoms, she did it with diligence and very little enthusiasm. But the chance of helping an actual person that she knew, the daughter of people she had once known well, perhaps – that was different. There was now energy to her stance and interest in her eyes.

Perhaps he hadn't lost all of his childish ideals after all. And perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing. Perhaps trying to chase the grief and disbelief off Astrea's eyes could give some meaning to the emptiness that was his life once his duties for the days were over and he was again just Baelor. Baelor who had all and yet nothing.

* * *

In Baelor's temporary study, Maekar didn't look surprised. "Very well," he said and that took Baelor aback. He had expected that his brother would show the same dislike towards Astrea that she clearly felt towards him.

"You do think the decision a good one?"

Maekar raised a pale eyebrow. "Why, yes. She's healthy and of proven fertility. And she's no fool which, let's be honest here, is one of the things that matter to us. It would have been a waste to not use a clever lady who fits all the other requirements. I can only think of one person who might keep you in their constant distrust and that's your future goodmother. But you won't be seeing her this often, after all. And you might be able to win her over. You do have charm… and you aren't silver-haired," he added, matter-of-factly.

And here Baelor had thought that Lady Elsbet's reserves were due to his brother's morose nature alone.

"You didn't tell me anything about the brother," he said.

Again, Maekar didn't rise to the bait. "Ultor is a good and fine man," he only replied. "It we're going into such details, won't you be asking about the girl as well? Aurelia?"

"If I need to, I'll ask Daeron," Baelor said. "They seem to be spending much time together."

He immediately regretted that he had ever said it. Maekar's face darkened. "They won't be from now on," he answered darkly. "The girl is said to be so disappointed at waiting for a child groom to grow up that she'd be better kept away from those of age with her. Even if they're like my son. One never knows."

For the first time in so long, Baelor felt the unpleasant touch of a cold hand at Maekar's easy dismissal of Daeron. He looked unable to see past the boy's faults and see his loyalty, his compassion, the sharp mind engaged whenever Daeron felt like engaging it. But he had long ago stopped trying to make Maekar realize this.

Still, he was glad that compassion had returned. Ever since the Great Spring Sickness, he had wanted to grab Maekar and shake him hard whenever he heard any such words. _Do you not realize how lucky you are that he's alive_ , he had wanted to yell. Now, he once again felt sympathy for both Daeron and Maekar. Another part of himself that he had thought lost had returned.

Life was going on and as painful as it was, it was… life. What scared Baelor most was how _fine_ he had felt before. When he had been headed to be all but dead inside.

* * *

He wed Astrea Dayne – he could say that she'd never want to be called by her husband's name when not in order to impress the justice of her daughter's claim – in the sept of Riverrun seven days later. "Better make everyone to accept a deed done that explaining why this or that daughter, sister, or granddaughter won't be your Queen and Astrea will," Maekar had only said in his gruff, business-like manner and Baelor had agreed.

Among those attending, there was no doubt some who felt personally rejected. But they weren't this many. Once again, Baelor found himself missing his father. Daeron's generosity, the kindness that had come to him without any effort of the will now served the realm once again. Lady Tully, the regent of the young lord, had been born Mya Rivers. She had her station in life thanks to Daeron's decision to give her a splendid match and as a result, the Riverlands had been pretty aligned to the Iron Throne. Still were. Mya had gone out of her way to accommodate his new Queen's wishes, showing her support to everyone who wished to see and some who didn't. Alys seemed delighted by the prestige the match would bring the Vale. And the court, well-versed in flattery, couldn't look more delighted, albeit spreading their vile calumny already. It was better to go forth with the wedding and not give anyone the time to react. He had decided that they couldn't wait even for Astrea's mother to arrive.

He had been a little hesitant at how she'd react at the news but she had taken it with great aplomb. "My lady mother wed without anyone of her family present," she only said. "And at the morning of Dyanna's wedding, my grandmother actually offered her three thousand dragons if she changed her mind and just didn't say the words. My mother will just be happy to know that this time, I stayed and did get wed."

He had only stared at her, trying to decide if she was being serious or if she was spinning a Dyanna-like tale.

But now here she was, her hair sparkling with the light of tens of amethysts, her dress as violet as her eyes. She was as beautiful as the singers claimed but nonetheless Baelor was impressed with the tact that her niece Aurelia had displayed by choosing a gown that understated her looks to let the new Queen shine more brightly. Beauty was one thing but the years of tension and misery had left their mark. She couldn't compare to some of the highborn maidens attending the ceremony but Baelor didn't mind. He made an effort not to look at the only one he knew he'd compare her to. The only one – Flora…

In the sept and later, at the feast, Aegon stood with his sisters and cousins, avoiding the rest of the family which surprised Baelor. Hadn't Maekar spoken to his son, finally? But he didn't have the time to investigate. He had to go through a wedding that brought out painful memories of his first hopeful one, avoid the woman he had desired to make his second wife, and have two little girls that he hadn't spoken more than a few words to understand that he wasn't going to have them sent away from curt and their mother now that he had wed her… Baelor simply didn't have the time to get Aegon's false conviction straight. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice – everyone was still too shocked by the fact that Maekar's mistress was seated at the high table, much to Aelinor and Alys' disdain. There were already whispers about the loose morals that the new Queen had brought over and the old one clearly didn't mind since she and Astrea actually spoke to Saryl Lothston and the irony wasn't lost on Baelor as he stood before the bed, watching Astrea tremble worse than Jena had on their wedding night.

"I won't hurt you," he promised, feeling stupid for saying it to a mother of four. But she needed it. She was shaking so hard that the very bed seemed to vibrate. At that moment, she clearly regretted her decision to accept him.

"I know," she said but she couldn't stop trembling until it was over and he drew a tentative hand along her cheek to make sure that she was truly fine.

"I'm sorry," Astrea murmured. "I… I'll try harder next time. I will…"

"Don't," Baelor interrupted her. "You didn't do anything wrong. I know it's hard to believe me now but it will get better. I will never hurt you."

It felt obscene to ask about the man who had made her fear the act so. Not on their wedding night. He was sure that he was right. What he didn't know was the time when it would get better. He rose and went to close the windows that he had left wide open in the hope that the hum of the river might soothe her. He didn't draw the curtains close as he had always done. Tonight, it would feel like the constraints of a grave.

When he came back to bed, Astrea turned over to him, the moon casting her face and the tears on it silver, and took his hand, and somehow, it _was_ better now. Less lonely. A little like the camaraderie that he had felt with those strangers who had sat with him the night before they all entered the fight that would bring forth the defeat of the Black Dragon and the triumph of the red one.

 


	9. A New Beginning

Usually, the girls broke their fast with them but they were eager to finish it because an hour afterward was the afforded time to do whatever they liked before they went to their septa. They would often take a bite or two before going off to Maekar's chambers because Daella, Rhae, and Aelora had the same regimen. An hour or two before the evening feast were their mother's time with them and while it was certainly shorter than what they had been used to before, Baelor had never heard his new queen complain. In fact, sometimes the children came back even later, too busy to explore the Red Keep from top to bottom. But at least he could recognize them from other children now, and not only because of Alyssa's eerie resemblance to the late Dyanna.

"Bets are down, about who Aurelia's husband will be," Astrea said while leafing through parchments old and new. She seemed to be arranging them in some order only known to her. It wasn't by petitions and private letters, or missives from the Reach as opposed to the North. As far as Baelor could say, it wasn't even by topic. "Lord Tyrell seems to be the leading candidate."

"What have you and my Masters of Whisperers have been whispering about?" Baelor asked, surprised that Brynden would spare time for such trivialities, such expected things. "Of course there are whispers. It was the same when Dyanna brought _you_ to court, remember?"

A bitter smile twisted the young Queen's lips. "I do remember," she said. "We used to laugh about it. I came here already knowing that I'd wed into the other side of the Marches. I had accepted it, so all those husbands people kept ascribing to me provided a good entertainment."

Baelor looked up from the dagger he was inspecting, surprised by the sad anger in her voice. Too late, he realized that young Aurelia's position was different from young Astrea's. She received special treatment as was expected for the relative of the Queen but unlike her aunt, she didn't have a marriage to young and virile man expecting her. She had to wait for a child to grow up. All those rumours must be incredibly upsetting for her because she knew that she had to fix Astrea's own mistake. Lord Tyrell would not become her husband. None of the suggested candidates would.

"What are you doing?" he asked, to better deflect his lady wife's attention from the guilty reflections of her part in this. "How are you arranging those anyway?"

She shrugged. "By the Queen's and your mother's charities," she said and at first, Baelor couldn't make the difference.

"My mother started an asylum for unwed mothers when she first came to King's Landing," he said a moment later. "Of course, that only served to confirm the perception of Dornish people as lewd."

"One Dornish whore taking care of others," Astrea said bluntly and Baelor choked on his wine. No one had ever put it this blatantly before. She was likely well informed that this moniker was being applied to her as well. She rose and came close to pound him on the back with a hand that not at all frail and ladylike. "She started another charities as well," she went on. "I am trying to discern her own projects from those bequeathed to queens since Alysanne. It wouldn't be right for me to appropriate her own charities. I'll have my own."

There was more certainty in her voice than ever in the two moons after their wedding when this matter had ever been raised. Baelor placed the dagger away entirely and gave her a look of faint curiosity. "You have something in mind?"

"I do," she confirmed. "A home for children who were born deaf and mute, for a start. It'll be located in one of the manors you gave me, Green Hill. I was told the climate there is best suited for those with frail health. I will find men and women ready to teach them how to carve wood or make embroideries, so when they leave, they'll be ready to earn their living and not begging their bread by the side of the road."

"And how are you going to finance it, Astrea?" Baelor asked reluctantly. All the money for his own spending had been planned to pour into the huge empty spots that the Spring Sickness had left within the ranks of those who worked the land, ground the wheat, transported goods of great necessity as well as those of lavish luxury. The work in all the regions that had felt the breath of the Stranger was still paralyzed, almost it had started stirring. The great tourney thrown to celebrate his new wedding had been the final nail in the coffin of his spendings. "I do like the idea, don't get me wrong. The Seven will love you for that but for now, it simply isn't sustainable."

She looked undeterred. "You established a few grants for me, did you not?"

Baelor only stared. "But they are _small_ , Astrea. You won't even be able to live in true splendour. In a few years, when the realm has recovered somewhat, you'll get more, and more suitable for your station but for now, you only get less than two thirds of what my mother received when she was queen. At the time my father ascended to the Iron Throne, my lady grandmother had been long dead but I now have to provide for both you and her and…"

"Did Maekar tell you to give me those platitudes?" she cut in, eyes blazing. "Is that his idea, that splendour is so very important to me and there is no way I can control my spending?"

Baelor could only shake his head. This was the first time he even heard about such an idea. Astrea sighed. "I intend to end the year with a balance in hand," she proclaimed and Baelor quickly looked away, truly amused for the first time in a very long time. He was a little proud of her, his energetic, determined, well-intentioned queen, and he wouldn't reproach her when she inevitably ended up with a deficit. "And I will start as soon as I return from Golden Stream."

The silence stretched between them. In the public recognition, obligation, and celebrations of their wedding, they had barely had the time to see each other. Certainly not talked about anything serious.

"I'll just put things there in order," Astrea promised. "I'll be back immediately."

The more time they spent together, the greater chance for her to get with child. But when he spoke, it wasn't this concern that moved him, at least not entirely. "Do you want me to come with you?"

She quickly shook her head. "No, no. As if I am afraid and you're coming to keep me safe. I'll do it on my own. Just Ultor and I. I won't even take the girls."

She knew that the danger of a forced wedding should be non-existing now but she couldn't be entirely sure. Better not risk it. And of course, her late husband's cousin couldn't try to make up for Elsbet's absence by wedding her, the heiress' mother. Astrea would feel quite safe traveling around on her own.

She didn't say anything more but Baelor realized that dealing with her daughter's inheritance and rights on her own was important to her, to prove to herself that she could do it, so he wasn't about to stop her, even if that delayed the getting an heir part for a month or two.

* * *

Of course, it didn't turn out this way. Astrea lost a fortnight at the Eyrie as Donnel Arryn's cherished guest, the one all hastily assembled Valemen and women came to see. Some stepped in with curiosity, others with joy, others yet with fear, all with desire to make impression. She knew many of them, had suffered the rejection of some, formed ties with others. Her entire life since she had fled with the Valeman she had been in love with passed before her eyes as she sat in the high box for the quickly organized tourney, the queen of the festivities as she was the queen of the Seven Kingdoms, or as she slept in the Moon Tower that Lord and Lady Arryn had given up to her.

It was another world, the Vale. An undamaged one, and she said so to Lord Donnel and Lady Diadra. "You did well to seal the Vale off, my lord. My travels outside only proved just how greatly you served your people."

"We've heard all kind of horrible tales about King's Landing," Lady Arryn said. "We were so scared…"

"It's all over now, as terrible as it was," Astrea replied and started telling them about their grandchildren. The woman's face brightened and even Lord Arryn smiled.

Her visit at Golden Stream didn't pass nearly this well. As soon as the gates opened and the shoes of their horses echoed around the stone-paved bailey, a surge of the familiar fear and hatred made her breath catch. How many a night had she been weeping herself to sleep in the Square Tower where the lord's – the lady's, now, Elsbet's – chambers lay? How many times had she cursed her hot blood, her treacherous heart that had led her here? How many times had she stood at the window, wishing to jump and leave it all behind? Only, she had been unable to. Leaving her girls with her husband and his mother whose disapproval of her had turned to hatred after she had smothered her babe and eventually, at the mercy of Perren's new wife? That had never been an option.

In the great hall, Lady Emala curtsied to her. Astrea looked from her to the black cloth of mourning still swathing everything and felt that she was suffocating. "Welcome," the older woman said. "Your Grace."

How many times had Astrea dreamed to see her humbled and humiliated? Now, she only wanted to have the matters dealt with and leave the castle that sapped her lifeblood as it once had.

"Is Ser Polander here?" she asked, taking a seat.

A flash of hatred crossed Lady Emala's eyes. "He was quick to leave when he learned you had wed the King," she said. " _Very_ quick."

"That's good," Astrea replied. "He will have no place here as long as I hold Golden Stream for Elsbet."

This calm claim of power made the older woman glare at her but she recognized the truth in it. "That's good to hear," she said.

"Ser Aron will rule in Elsbet's name, with my blessing," Astrea went on, looking at the steward who had stepped in from the shadows and was now standing behind her, as he always had before. She also named a few men and women she knew and trusted from before. "You, of course, can stay, my lady," she finished magnanimously, as if she weren't tugging out of Emala's hands the power she had regained for so shortly after Polander's escape. But it was not her obligation to provide Emala with power and reasons to live her days. Not at Elsbet's expense. And she didn't trust her.

"Are the children going to come back?" her goodmother finally asked and despite everything, Astrea felt an unwanted surge of pity.

"No," she said. "My girls will stay with me. They will come from time to time but they will not be taken from me."

Lady Emala looked down. "Of course," she said evenly.

"I thought it would be such a great moment," Astrea said softly, days after they had left the castle, the stream that shone like true gold, and the pain of her past. "I thought I would gloat, that I'd feel like flying… But it isn't like that at all."

"That's the difference between you and her," Ultor replied. "In your place, she would have felt all those things."

It was then that she realized he had come to know all the hurts of her past. It was no wonder since he and Elfred had taken a great liking to each other immediately.

"I'll make amends," she said, her voice suddenly fierce. "To you, to Aurelia… I will find a way, you'll see."

The look he gave her was anything but grateful. "For a queen, it's dangerous to indulge such illusions," he only said and looked ahead.

"Is it going to rain?" Astrea asked, looking up at the clothes, as dark and dangerous as the ashes between her and Ultor, ashes that turned to living embers ever so often.

Ultor looked up as well. "A storm, I think,"

Astrea bit her lip. "Which is the nearest inn or castle?" she asked, surprising her brother. They had both survived countless storms in the Red Mountains. In the very heart of them. "The Maidenpool?"

"It's Whitewalls, Your Grace," Elfred said because as usual, he went wherever she did.

She nodded. "To Whitewalls we go, then."

* * *

Four months. They had been wed in less than five moons but he already felt her absence. It had been nice to have someone to return to at the evening and listen to her plans of setting up charities and reviving merchant caravans. Her beauty wasn't a bad thing, either. Just a week after her leaving, Baelor could hardly wait for her to come back even as he tried to figure out a way to avoid a loan from the Iron Bank. If they could get through the next two years without any major losses, he'd consider them as having successfully escaped the total collapse.

Except for those who had not escaped the Stranger, of course…

Still, his wedding to Astrea had invigorated King's Landing even in her absence. There were presents and envoys from all over Essos coming to see the new Queen. Traders of fabrics and women trained to prepare beautifying ointments and potions flourished in their trades. Poets and singers turned the beautiful new Queen in a subject of songs and praises that filled their hats with coin in the street. And of course, her daughters could be seen exploring the Red Keep often when they weren't schooled by their septa, and watching them with her own granddaughters, Mariah even smiled which made Baelor happy.

"Have you heard from Astrea?" she asked him in the late afternoon, about a month after Astrea's leaving. "The girls were asking me when she was coming back."

"She's on her way," Baelor replied, noticing with some surprise the mass of papers on the table before her. She and Maekar's mistress were leafing through it. "I thought most petitions came to her already?"

His mother laughed softly. "Do not remind me. It's temporary and I'm glad Saryl is here to help me, although Maekar isn't pleased that I'm keeping her for so long. He thinks taking care of the girls is exhausting enough."

Baelor shook his head. "So, should I be prepared for another day of glaring each time Astrea's name comes along?" he asked, although he couldn't fault Maekar for wanting Saryl close when he returned from his day of duties. _He_ wanted Astrea close and he didn't even love her. "Can you explain me that enmity of theirs anyway?" he asked. "They seem to have no meager respect for each other but at the same time, they can't stand being together in a hall."

"Ah, this," Saryl said instantly, still reading through a parchment. "It's very easy. I can explain it to you right now if you have the time, Your Grace."

She said it so casually that he looked at her with rapt attention for the very first time in his life, for all that she had shared Maekar's for more than five years and unlike many, he had never ignored her when they happened to meet. It hadn't been hard – she was nowhere as striking as Dyanna and about as half as lively and captivating. "Do tell."

Saryl smiled and Baelor abruptly realized what his brother must have seen in her. When she smiled, she almost became a beauty. It was as if there was warmth flowing from her and he wondered why she hadn't done it more often when young. "It's very simple," she said but what was so simple, Baelor didn't quite get to know because one of his mother's handmaidens came in and spoke to her in a low voice.

"Let him in," Mariah said. "Brynden," she said in reply to Baelor's questioning look.

The Master of Whisperers entered and bowed. Mariah looked at him, frowning. "A sleepless night again?" she asked. "Do take some rest from time to time, Brynden! The realm won't go to ruins if you leave your reports waiting for a while."

"I'm afraid that right now, it might, Your Grace." Even his voice was scratchy from the lack of rest. He looked at Baelor. "We were right. Daemon's eldest surviving son has made it to Westeros and his first moves against your throne."

 


	10. The Drawn Blades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented. Special thanks to Baelofan who never misses a chapter!

The panic caused by her sudden arrival quite amused Astrea. The last time she had arrived in a castle uninvited – well, perhaps the next to the last time – she had been forced to wait quite a long before being admitted and then wait some more before being allotted a chamber of her own; now, she was fussed over and offered tea and hot sweetened wine as the servant maids rushed on the floor above to move the bride's things from the best chamber in Whitewalls and make it available for the Queen's use. "I don't need this much…" she started but Ultor caught her eye and shook his head. Right. She might not need this much cossetting but this was one of the things she had implicitly agreed when she married Baelor. Lord Butterwell's next words confirmed it.

"It'll be a slight on my honour if I offer Her Grace anything but the best I have," he claimed. Still, he was not looking at her but Ultor; with mild irritation, she realized that he thought her brother was the one making the decisions for her. As a whole, people seemed to suppose she held greater sway over Baelor than she did in truth just because she was considerably younger and famously beautiful but of course, that did not indicate that her own family was not dictating her behavior. If only they knew!

"I appreciate it," she said, surprised by the dislike she had for her host. He was nothing but polite and even fawning. No different from hundreds of other men. Who had told her something about him? She had heard that he was cowardly.

She had no way to ask, of course, so that night, she sat at the dais with him, Lord Frey, and the bride who was even younger than she had been when she had eloped, smiled, and accepted the toasts to her and Baelor's health. She wiped the frown off her forehead the moment she felt it come. They were all too eager in their toasts. It was almost like… like… the thought escaped her again but a look at Ultor's stern face made her realize that there was something in the air that should not be so.

The wishes of fertility aimed at the new bride brought everyone's eyes to Astrea. They couldn't see her belly under the table, of course, and it was too soon after her wedding to expect a child on the way and certainly too early to expect her to show if such a child existed. This did not stop anyone from guessing, of course, and something deep within her told her that their guesses weren't quite well-meaning. Why was that? They should be eager for an heir!

Her eyes went over the hall and fell on the tallest man she had ever encountered. She recognized him immediately and was surprised by the sudden lurch of fear that was her first reaction. But her voice kept the conversation light and civil.

When the festivities were over, Astrea was dying to have some sleep but she could also not escape the fear rising in her. Her two Kingsguard walked at her sides, with Ultor leading the way and a few gold cloaks following, everyone's swords gleaming. Not in the scabbards. Not with their hands resting on the hilts. They walked around her with drawn blades in their hands. In a castle celebrating a wedding.

"Find him," Ultor told them as soon as they entered Astrea's bedchamber and made a few steps away from the door. "Find my nephew."

Ser Donnel and Ser Roland looked at Astrea and she nodded. Quicky, Ser Roland removed his distinctive white cloak and tousled his hair some to look more like a reveler before leaving. Over his shoulder, Astrea spotted the gleam of a gold cloak. Her door was heavily guarded.

"What?" she asked as soon as the door closed.

Ultor gave her a grim look. "That's a traitors' haunt," he said simply. "I saw a good deal of crests today. And faces. I saw most of those being tried after the Black Dragon fell. I fought against some of them at Redgrass Field and before."

Astrea gasped. Now she remembered where she had heard their host being called cowardly. Maekar, of course, Maekar had said with contempt to her and Dyanna how Lord Butterwell had sent a son at either side. She now realized that she had seen some of the men in the hall at court too – when she had been her sister's attendant, a girl with a bright future awaiting her while they had had no idea if they would have any. They had looked much different then! Scared. Unlike today. Now, it was her who felt fear but she could not say why.

"What else?" she asked, turning to her brother. She felt sure that there was something more. Now, Ultor's face confirmed it.

"We have a Blackfyre here, under this very roof," he said without trying to sweeten it. "This Fiddler boy."

Astrea gasped, and so did Roland Crakehall. "Are you sure?" she asked and Ultor laughed darkly.

"He's the spitting image of his father as he was when I met him," he said. "The self-important boy offered his services to Dyanna."

Astrea gasped. "Surely not…"

"He did," Ultor said. "It was an ill-advised decision however. But it was one of the reasons I knew I would not forget him. Ser Ronald, what says you?"

The Kingsguard hesitated. "I believe you might be right, my lord. Or… not."

"My brother is right, undoubtedly," Astrea snapped. Ultor never spoke without being sure of his words, unlike Dyanna who could say whatever fib had taken her fancy and believe it whoheheartedly.

The white knight sighed. "That's what I feared!"

Astrea felt sudden weakness. The two men looked uneasy as well but when she poured them some wine from the jug left on the table, they declined. She refrained as well, feeling acutely just how ridiculous that was. They had all eaten Lord Butterwell's bread and drunk his wine already. If he wanted to poison them, he wouldn't do it in the Queen's chamber. And why would he want such a thing, by the Seven?

Why would he host a traitors' tourney? With a son of Daemon Blackfyre, of all people? Astrea took a seat and Ultor and Ser Ronald remained standing, their blades still drawn and ready. Everyone felt relieved when the door opened and a huge shadow slipped in as silently as it was possible for someone this big. A second one followed, dwarfed by the size of the former.

"What are you playing at?" Ser Duncan the Tall asked angrily, his hand rushing to his own sword as he saw the blades in theirs.

"Do take those back in," Astrea said impatiently. "Now that we're all here, they're not needed."

She smiled at the sight of the tall youth's protectiveness. Aegon had found a good protector indeed. Then, slightly surprised, she noticed the book her nephew was carrying. He had been reading when they had found him? Now?

"Coats of arms," Ultor said. Being closer to Aegon, he had noticed this much. "Which means you understand what's going on, don't you?"

The boy nodded. "They're traitors, aren't they? All of them."

The hedge knight looked irritated – and quite drunk. "Don't start again, boy. It was all so long ago."

"Not this long," Ultor said sharply. "The Black Dragon might be dead, blessed be the Seven, but his beastling is here – and I don't think it's a friendly family visit that he's planning."

That made both of them startle. Aegon slowly shook his head. "You're talking like my father."

"He would have told you the same thing, had he been here," Ultor stated. "I want you both to leave Whitewalls by the first light of the sun. Whatever happens, I don't want you here for it. I am not sure what they're planning but I expect that should Astrea wish to leave, she'll be kindly delayed. But you can leave, as long as no one is aware who you are."

Aegon's face changed. "You want me to run and hide?" he exclaimed and at the same time, Ser Duncan said angrily, "That's too much! I can take it from the boy but not a man grown. I am taking part in the tourney and you shying at shadows won't stop me!"

Ultor and Astrea looked at each other, exasperated. "I'll give you all the money you hoped to win by jousting," he said impatiently and she saw how the young man's face became fury personified. The boy looked insulted as well.

"My pride is worth more than any dragons," Ser Duncan said haughtily.

More than Aegon's safety, Astrea wanted to ask but she could see that he did not believe this safety was threatened.

"Very well," she said. "If we're all going to stay here, we can put our time to some good use and stop them."

Four big men and a little sweaty one gave her looks of utter confusion. "Your Grace," Ser Donnel said. "We don't know what they're planning."

"Whatever it is, I am not planning on sitting there and waiting around until they become ready to show it!"

Aegon started nodding enthusiastically. Ultor gave her a long look. "I am not sure it's the safest thing for you." he said.

Was he going to try and start dissuading her? "Fortunately, I don't need your opinion on my decisions," Astrea stated. "I am the Queen. Now, I'm going to write a letter."

"Who to?" he asked.

"Baelor," she said and now even Ser Duncan looked anxious.

"Your Grace," he said. "If… if you're right about them, they will likely read your letter before it leaves."

Astrea sat at the table and smiled at him. "That's what I'm counting on!"


	11. Catching One Another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for these thought-provoking comments, they were very helpful!

In the shadow of the white walls, Astrea put forth a considerable effort to stay awake. To her, the hot dry weather was no problem, although all around her – well, beneath her, mostly, since she occupied the lofty and lonely seat of honour – she could see faces that the heat had turned from crimson to pasty white. A serving girl approached with a tray of cold drinks and Astrea took a glass. "After everyone takes one, you should go to splash your face and drink some water," she said and the girl looked at her gratefully. Lord and Lady Butterwell both glanced at her but did not dare show their indignation of her meddling openly. Astrea's opinion of them sank even lower. Couldn't they see that their servants would soon collapse with heat? What use would there be when this happened? She wondered how the jousting knights managed to raise and point their swords. She had rarely encountered such dry heat, except when she had been in the Dornish desert. Boredom lulled her to sleep and she remembered how Dyanna had demanded that she, Astrea, woke her up at tournaments when the babes she carried demanded their fill of sleep, not caring about proper time and place at all. She was ready to give such an order to her own ladies when the announcement of the herald startled her awake. Ser Duncan would meet Ser Uthor Underleaf.

"Don't shout too loudly," Ultor murmured and she smiled. No, she would not shout too loudly for Ser Duncan but even if she did, it was hardly anything that would attract notice to him. Spectators used to do such things during the tilts. It was not as if she had given him her favour. Not because she didn't want to.

Ultor also looked bored and she clasped his hand. "Do you want to go down and ride?" she asked in a low voice. The Seven knew that it would bring some excitement to the tilts. And the Blackfyre boy would hardly jump on the dais to attack her, after all.

He shook his head. He had long lost his hunger for tourneys and casual jousting, another change that Astrea had not been there to see taking place. "There are only two men I'd like to ride against," he said and when Astrea asked which ones he meant, he pointed at two who could have been called mediocre, at best. Surprised, she kept silent.

At least Ser Duncan would now have a chance to live better – and offer Aegon some better conditions. She told her brother this much and he disagreed. "He will fall in this tilt," he said and to Astrea's great surprise and disappointment, that was exactly what happened. With a cry frozen in her throat, she saw the huge knight fall.

"It won't be too bad," Ulthor said, although there was some concern in his eyes. Astrea ground her teeth as she heard some woman on the lower row of seats laugh.

The higher the sun rose, the hotter it became. The Queen looked for more and more distractions to keep her awake. The sight of two sturdy men carting huge baskets from a side gate down a lawn drew her eye. For washing? She knew that there was a stream down there. Two women scurried behind them and Astrea wondered if Lord Butterwell did not have adequate number of servants. With these baskets, the women would have to spend a week in the stream!

She felt enormous relief as she saw Ser Duncan limping out around the edges of the arena. He would live and would not suffer too much damage. But she scowled when she saw the ease with which John the Fiddler won his tilts. Ultor shook his head again, his disdain visible to her, if not others. But then, it was easy for someone as martially gifted as he to be disdainful. He and Maekar both might claim it dishonourable to win this way but he wasn't charging to the arena to challenge and defeat the Blackfyre boy all ably and honourably, was he?

"His father could fight, at least," Ultor said angrily when they were finally alone in her chambers. "This one is so lacking that he doesn't even realize how they grant him the win."

"Grant him? Or buy him?" Ser Donnel asked cynically.

Astrea had had enough. "Does it matter?" she asked angrily. Her head was throbbing, she could fall asleep right there where she stood, her fear was growing and they sat here and discussed warrior merits? "Why didn't you all join his traitor of a father if he fought so well?"

"Because your husband fought better, of course," Ultor replied immediately while the Kingsguard simply looked ashamed. "So, is it now time for another of these stupid letters?" he asked and she grinned.

"Before this tourney is over, they will be pitying poor Baelor," she said. "For being saddled with a clinging Dornishwoman who won't let a day go by without the most boring letter possible."

"Think of all the work they must be putting into processing them for invisible ink," Ultor advised her and she couldn't stay angry with him for long. The situation was difficult enough without anger in their own ranks.

* * *

At King's Landing, the Queen Mother shook her head and silently pushed the letter towards Shiera Seastar. The corners of the young woman's mouth quirked but she took and skimmed it. "Doesn't that remind you of her sister?" she asked. "The letter she addressed to Maekar but then finished with a question how the King could be so presuming as to read other people's letters?"

Mariah stared blankly. "When the rebellion found her in Dorne," Shiera elucidated and Mariah laughed, remembering – her first laughter in over than a year.

"There is something to this," she agreed. "But Astrea is still writing to Baelor, wanting to make sure that he understands. There is all this talk about the tourney and the food – and then she mentions how much she misses King's Landing and her talks with Maekar about Dyanna." She huffed. "I wish!"

If it was left to Maekar, no one would even know that a Dyanna had ever existed, that was how much he talked about her. Mariah had hoped that this would change over time but it had only grown worse. And he and Astrea rarely talked about anything anyway.

"She must be terribly scared," she said softly. "With insufficient number of men, in the very midst of this traitor nest. And she surely realizes that a host on its way will turn her into a hostage."

Shiera nodded without saying anything and for the hundredth time in the last three days cursed her own decision not to have something slipped into Daemon's drink when she could have done it. For years, she had been thinking that Brynden was a man obsessed with shadows, his insistence that Daemon's line was still a threat and Aegor, Aegor most of all was a dangerous enemy sounding like the ramblings of a madman even to the two people he dared share it with – Daeron and her. Alas, it had not been.

"May the Seven keep her," she said, touching the silver necklace hanging heavy on her neck, and Mariah closed her eyes in a prayer, almost wishing that she had not read this letter addressed to Baelor in his absence.

* * *

The tent meant for war campaigns differed significantly from the one the King used for processions. There were just a few folding chairs inside, a rough folding bed with thin linen for sleep, and height that did not let a tall man raise a hand over his head without hitting the ceiling. Baelor preferred it vastly. But now, he could find things to annoy him even in its simplicity. The grass under the straw-mats creaked too noisily. The floor lamps gave too little light and too much shadows, to match the ones in his own mind. These thin walls let every sneeze from the outside carry. Really, how could he have ever thought this was an acceptable dwelling?

His anger lashed at his squire like a leather whip when the boy dared enter with a tray of roasted apples and some meat. "Return these to the fool who roasted them," he snapped. "If he likes eating ash, he's welcome to it. I am accustomed to eating food."

The stupid boy opened his mouth, no doubt to ask if His Grace wished for new supper to be roasted at the fire but reconsidered and bowed himself out of the situation. So, he wasn't this stupid, after all.

"Astrea will be fine," Maekar said in a calm voice, "and your fears are unfounded. She's a smart little liar. They will look at her and think her harmless and a certain quarry already. But they will be wrong."

Baelor spun around and cursed himself. He had not realized just how much of his alertness had been swollen by this terrible worry. He had not even heard Maekar's approach, although his brother had stepped on the same noisy straw-mats that annoyed him so much.

"How can you be so sure?" he asked angrily. "Who used to say that she was a hopeless fool? Why, it would be you!"

Maekar didn't flinch. "It's my business what I used to say," he replied. "She's no one's fool. Look at how adroitly she let you know that something was up."

"We knew it before her letter," Baelor reminded him.

"Well yes but even if we didn't, her letter would have raised our suspicions. Sewing with Mother," he snickered. "That's something I would pay to see. I would double it if Mother can do it without pricking her fingers all over."

Reluctantly, Baelor also smiled. "Do you want to have a walk with me?" he asked abruptly. Sometimes, Maekar was the perfect companion. One who was unbothered by prolonged silence. "And if you have any idea how to smuggle her out of the castle, tell me," he added.

"I will," Maekar promised. "But it won't come to it. She and Ultor will rescue themselves."

Baelor hoped so very much. _You're a protector in your heart,_ his mother's words rang in his mind. Perhaps she was right. Because if love played any part in it, Astrea's face would not have pushed Jena's and Flora's from his mind's eye so very suddenly. Concern should not have been enough but somehow, it was. Somehow in those last few months, he, Astrea and the girls had become a family. Astrea, with her youthful bravery and heartache, his small, restless, nobly-minded queen, so sure that she would end up the year with a balance in hand. The very thought of her within Lord Gormon Peake's reach made him see red and black, anger and hopelessness. The man was capable of killing her out of spite when he got a word of their coming.

* * *

Astrea could see the effect her letters had – well, immediately. The conversations at the high table were turned to domestic matters, feasts, and gowns and while she did not mind talking about those, there were only so many shades of purple that she knew. If there were any looks of suspicion, those were aimed at her brother and the Kingsguard, leaving her and her ladies to work their angle almost unnoticed. Who could pay attention to a gaggle of women, the chief among whom had clearly been chosen for her fecundity? Perhaps it had already occurred to the King to see what her brain contained – all too late? These were the things that people talked about her most often – even the hedge knights! In one of their rare meetings at might, Aegon confirmed that a good deal of those originated from a Ser Meynard Plum's mouth. Astrea was delighted. She would have years to restore her reputation if… well, if what? She still had no idea what these men intended but it was clear that they were building the Blackfyre boy to look a prominent fighter which even she could see that he was not. And that scared her.

When Lord Butterwell announced that the reward for the ultimate winner would be a dragon egg, Astrea clearly let her mask slip because Ultor squeezed her hand urgently under the table. The disrespect was tremendous but something else was evident as well: the events were unfolding rapidly. Why did they need to give the boy a dragon egg if not to strengthen his claim in the eyes of Westeros? The servant that they had bribed had had a look in his belongings and there was nothing resembling the description of the sword Blackfyre but it was a scarce comfort that got scarcer yet with each victory the boy won against opponents that Ultor said were doing their best to lose.

"It must be tomorrow night," she told Ultor because they had both noticed that Lord Peake was studying her at the evening feast. Ser Ronald confirmed that the man had been looking at her when the announcement about the dragon egg had been made. She had made a mistake and he had seen it. He was smarter than the young Blackfyre and more determined than Lord Butterwell. Soon, he'd start wondering why the King would not reply to his wife's letters, even out of courtesy.

That night, the designs were gone over as if they were battle plans – and they were just as certain to happen as planned as those. Everyone knew their place. The sequence of their actions was determined and repeated aloud until they knew it by heart. Only Ser Donnel looked displeased. "I would like to stay with the Queen," he said, looking at Ultor with some – not distrust but well, distrust. The thought of leaving anyone else to guard Her Grace when he and his sworn brother were close displeased him.

"He'll do a fine job," Ser Ronnel assured him and gave Ultor a sideway glance. "I'd like to know that the Queen has someone brave and has quick reaction. My lord of Dayne proved that in his tender youth."

Colour rose to Ultor's cheeks and then he laughed. "That wasn't my best day, was it?"

Ser Ronnel turned serious. "I trust that this one will be."

Ultor nodded, all gaiety gone.

But the plans the traitors made seemed to be one step before their own. The next day, Lord Peake announced that the dragon egg had disappeared and Astrea knew that the end was close. But when she heard who stood accused in the theft, her rage rose at feverish pitch that even the discovery of this treacherous nest had not evoked.

"He was so proud of his father who died for the Black Dragon!" she hissed at Ultor. "All my attendants speak of it. Your men as well. And they dare use _him_? I have no idea why they did it but this boy is no thief."

She had grown up in a castle, after all, and she had seen enough practices and tourneys. She had also seen enough thefts to know the type who did not commit them. Someone who wished so greatly to win as Ser Glendon Flowers, who threw in the tilts with all he had was not a thief. It was as simple as this. And these men thought they could get off with such framing in _her_ presence?

"I want Peake flogged," she raged as she paced around in her bedchamber. "I will have him flogged!"

"Your lord husband will have him beheaded for treachery," Ultor soothed and she whirled on him.

"When? Before or after he has the boy hung? By the Seven, this Daemon is as much of a fool as the first one was…"

She had not known the first Daemon, of course, but she had no problem repeating Dyanna and Maekar's words.

"I want it to be Peake," she suddenly said. "Not Daemon."

Ultor and Ser Donnel looked at her helplessly but they were powerless to dissuade her and well, there was no time. She dismissed them to dress for the feast and did her best to look as charming and foolish as possible. Even Lord Peake relaxed, not looking at her this often, as she smiled at the Black Tom Heddle.

Ser Duncan had already been sent a word that she'd wait for him in her chambers. In fact, he and Aegon were waiting for her there and she listened with growing impatience as the boy prattled on about new armour and a horse…

"Do you want a clout in the ear?" Ser Duncan interrupted. "He tried to bribe me to their side," he said. "Lord Peake, my lady. Your Grace."

_So I was right about him. He's the brains behind this._

"I am not surprised," she said. "We're going to deal with him tonight."

He looked at her in horror. "My lady, if he dies, the suspicions will immediately fall to you! You have put on a convincing display but… not this convincing."

She waved a hand impatiently. "I am not going to kill him," she announced. "I am going to deliver him to the King's justice. And you as well," she added, looking at Aegon. "You're both leaving for Harrenhall. I would also have you leave, Ser Duncan," she added, "but I'm afraid that after what you told me, your absence will be noticed."

"We're leaving?" Aegon asked, stunned. "How?"

She smiled. "I mean exactly what I said. He will be _delivered_ to the King, or at least Lady Lothston."

"Are you sure it's wise to let Ser Duncan do it, Your Grace?" Ser Donnel asked about an hour later. "You said you wanted him alive and Ser Duncan is quite strong." And recalling something that looked painful, he rubbed the side of his head.

She shot him an impatient look. Couldn't he see that he was not helping? Ser Duncan was now looking at his hands with doubt and they needed the blow executed perfectly and powerfully.

"Ah, here he is," she breathed. Lord Gormon Peake was striding down the dimly lit corridor. To her relief, he was alone, although she had brought all four men with her, just in case he wasn't. "My lord!" she cried and then giggled loudly and excitedly like a serving wench being carried upstairs to drown the sound of the blow and the strike...

"This way," she said. Ser Duncan waved Ultor away when he tried to help him with his burden. Instead, he threw the unconscious lord over his shoulder and followed Astrea in the back of the castle, down corridors and stairs that men never knew but women did.

Two baskets were waiting for them just inside the gate already and Astrea looked at them doubtfully and leaned over to make sure that they had holes as Ser Ronald tied and gagged Lord Peake on the moonlight coming from the open gate. A startled gasp made her look up and follow Aegon's eye straight to Lord Butterwell who was now standing in the doorframe, staring at them in horror equal to hers.

Before she could think of anything to say, Aegon stepped forward. "How does it feel like to be caught in treason, my lord?" he challenged before their host had the chance to think of who had caught whom.

 


	12. Longest Night and Gloomy Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented, your input is precious!

Astrea's first thought was to have their host put out of service but of course, his absence would be noticed much earlier than Lord Peake. Ultor shook his head, as if he was about to stop her, but the two Kingsguard would obey without thinking. And then, she noticed the man's white face. He was intimidated by the sheer audacity of a mere boy he thought a nobody. Aegon was on the right way here! She arranged her face in a terrifying scowl. "Yes," she said. "Let's see how one explains treason."

"I – I am no traitor." But the man quailed visibly. Looking at her brother, Astrea realized that their nephew was indeed right. Lord Butterwell was afraid of them, primal fear that robbed him of any ability to think rationally, consider the way he had them in his hands. She caught this chance and ran with it before he could really appraise the situation and the enormous advantage he had.

"Let His Grace decide this," she snapped. "And do not think I won't tell him what my opinion on the matter is! You're hosting a tourney of traitors, you're housing a pretender under your roof, you're spitting on all codes of honour to aggrandize said pretender by letting bribery take place under your roof to secure his victory…" She was counting on her fingers. "Do I need to go on?"

He paled even more, something that she had not thought possible. She pressed even further. "The King is not going to be pleased, I can assure you!"

He was staring at her with horrified eyes, paying no mind to anyone else. With the corner of her eye, Astrea noticed Ser Ronald circle around to go behind him, saw Ultor shake his head. As she wondered for how long she could keep Lord Butterwell here before he came to his senses – she had some of her grandmother's way with words, although she was far less talented than Dyanna, - she could hardly keep him engaged all night long!

"I can say we succeeded in our mission," Aegon announced and Ser Donnel's jaw dropped.

They had succeeded in their mission? What kind of mission was this? Managing to go straight into the enemy's hands? If so, Astrea quite agreed… if not, not so much. "We did, indeed," she said, finding out that she was feeling an emotion most unbecoming the moment. Curiosity. What did the boy have in mind? _He's Dyanna's son,_ she thought with something like pride, _and Maekar Targaryen's._ Whatever his idea, it would be worth witnessing…

Aegon took his boot off. The sight of the ring made Astrea's breath catch – and Lord Butterwell almost fainted. "I am Aegon Targaryen," the boy announced. "And I will be your doom!"

With the corner of her eye, Astrea could see Ultor watching the boy's huge knight. It didn't take much effort to practically hear her brother's thoughts. _Close this mouth! Close it already!_

"The King is marching towards Whitewalls as we speak," she announced, "and Prince Maekar is with him. I suppose the land could use a little of the taste of Redgrass Field. How long do they have before they arrived, nephew?"

"No more than three days," the boy replied boldly. "I've already made them aware of the numbers and names of the guests…"

Lord Butterwell looked as if he were going to keel over and die. "Not stupid," Maekar had said about him, "but about as brave as a rabbit. When fear seizes him, wit runs away."

"Let's go to the sept," Astrea said. "We can talk there."

To Ser Donnel's greatest displeasure, he was charged with staying with the basket with Lord Peake until one of Astrea's women came to show him to the laundry room. One of the other guards would take care of the other basket. Astrea had the feeling that Aegon wouldn't take it well when he got to know that he was about to occupy it.

In the sept, she leaned against the altar of the Mother and wished, for about a millionth time in her life, to be taller than she was. But Lord Butterwell's look told her that at the moment, she was taller than the goddess herself. "I am no traitor!" he started, his voice shaking. "Your Grace, you must tell the King this! I knew your husband… your father…" he looked at Aegon, "when I was the Hand of the King. Even then, they were most excellent princes…"

Astrea listened as he tried to shift the blame onto Tom Heddle, his goodson, and was disgusted. Lord Frey appeared briefly, undoubtedly informed that there was a strange gathering in the sept. One look at the Queen and Lord Amrose who was holding his hands out entreatingly, and he announced that he was leaving immediately. He did not forget to wish Lord Butterwell happiness in his marriage! Butterwell shrank even further. Aegon seemed to grow taller. Astrea smiled.

And then, everything crashed around them. Ser Tommard Heddle barged in, barking at his guards to seize the Dornishwoman and – upon looking at the ring glinting proudly off Aegon's thumb and held in place only because the boy held the finger curled – included the boy in his order. Lord Butterwell tried to intervene and Astrea realized that he might indeed be as weak-willed as to have left everything in his goodson's hands because the men hesitated, unsure at which one to obey. In less than a few minutes, the man lay dead at Ser Duncan's feet and Lord Butterwell was assuring her that they needed to depart immediately…

"All of us?" she asked. "My women? All of my guards?"

He looked astounded and then, as if he were about to cry there in the faint candlelight. "Your Grace, this is not possible! They can look after themselves! Save yourself and your nephew! Peake has more friends among the guests than I do!"

"Go!" Ultor urged. "We'll take care of your ladies. Go to…" He had been about to say Harrenhall but checked himself in time. "Just go!"

Astrea knew that this was the best way of action. Kill the chief traitor, this Lord Peake. Run with Lord Butterwell before he changed sides again. Take Aegon to safety. All of her guards, all of her women should be ready to suffer for her, die for her if need be.

Still, it did not feel right. She had brought them here. She was responsible for them. Unbidden, memories of Princess Daenerys' pools came to her mind. She had been too old to play with the children when they had all been admitted but she had loved watching them. In the year of the Blackfyre Rebellion, she had spent many an hour watching them, and sometimes she could not tell Dyanna's Daeron and Ultor's Aurelia from the smallfolk children.

"I am not going anywhere," she said. "And, my lord, neither are you. The only ones who are going to leave before dawn are my nephew and Lord Peake."

Just as she had expected, everyone started objecting.

* * *

By now, people preferred to pose their questions to him through Maekar. It was a sorry state of affairs that his sullen brother would be considered the better conversationalist. Baelor could see how his reputation of beloved leader was falling apart quickly but he could not find it in himself to care.

"What is going to stop him from threatening to throw her from these white walls of his as soon as he sees us approach?" he asked more than once.

"The fact that he's a coward," Maekar would reply invariably, infuriatingly calm as he checked his weapons. "And besides, it won't come to this. She and Ultor would think of something."

"What?" Baelor always asked and never failed to notice the brief pause before his brother's reply, the one that betrayed unease far greater than Maekar would like to show.

"I don't know. But they can look after themselves."

They were less than half a day away from Whitewalls when great pandemonium brought Baelor out of his tent. He blinked when he saw the line going towards him: one of the Kingsguard that were supposed to stand guard before the entrance, a man with a gleaming scabbard that did not fit his tatters at all drag another one forward. This one looked unconscious. A bald street urchin, dirty for ten, closed the procession. "What's going on here?" he asked with a pang of foreboding.

The haggard man looked up and Baelor recognized him. Ser Ronald!

Upon seeing him, the knight grinned like a madman. "I am delivering a package from the Queen, Your Grace!" he announced in a booming voice. "That was what she said, that the traitor would be _delivered_ to you!"

Baelor narrowed his eyes, looking for any head injuries that could explain the behavior. "Too much time with her and Ultor," Maekar said, making the diagnosis effortlessly. "And let's not forget my son."

Aegon? The urchin! Of course! Now, Baelor looked down and realized that he was not surprised to see that the unconscious man was Lord Peake, his personal preferred villain ever since he had been a child. "Come in," he said and gave Peake a look of disgust. "Someone takes him to a tent under guard. Don't untie him just yet. And you two can come in and explain it all."

He had the most peculiar feeling that both Aegon and Ser Roland had dearly hoped that he would just forget about them – for real?

When they did explain, he could well understand their hope. "You just _abandoned_ her there?" he asked, incredulous. "Is this what you perceive as your duty to protect her?"

"This is what I perceive as my duty to _obey_ her," Ser Ronald replied. Tiredness made him unusually cross. "You did not tell me that I should grab and subdue her according to my ideas of her safety, Your Grace. What should I have done?"

"Stay with her!"

"She did not want me to. She believes that with Lord Butterwell under her sway, she could prevent the rebellion from taking place."

"Then she is a fool," Baelor said coldly. "What did her brother say?"

He fully expected to hear that Lord Dayne had been won out for this intention that could never work. Sure, the man looked reasonable but with sisters like his, who could say? And he had engaged in mad enterprises in his early youth.

"He was furious," was Ser Ronald's brief reply.

"I still say it should have been Her Grace who left and not I," Aegon put in. "And in a _basket_ , of all things!"

Ser Ronald drew a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. "We've already told you, there was no way for anyone to leave the castle unnoticed. No one could say which guards faithful to Tommard Heddle were at the gates…"

"Speak no more," Maekar interrupted and gave his son a stern look. "You too," he added, just when Aegon was about to start talking. "So, the Queen thinks she and Lord Ambrose can influence the rest of them into surrender?"

Madness! To Baelor's horror, even Ser Ronald nodded. "Perhaps they can," he said. "It was Peake that they listened to and he's in our hands now."

"Delivered to the King by his new wife," Maekar said seriously. "This far, everything has gone the way she wanted it to, hasn't it? I think it may continue this way."

"And if it doesn't?" Baelor snapped. "You have no idea! There are two girls at home who might learn that their mother is no more because of…"

He cut short, belatedly realizing what he had said.

Maekar's face had gone white. "You're right," he said coldly. "I have no idea indeed. My girls' mother died before they were old enough to realize what being no more means."

So that was how Baelor marched for Whitewalls – with demons in his mind, at odds with his brother, and with a Kingsguard who would look at his new Queen with certain fear from now on. _With Ser Ronald's experience with the Daynes, Aegon included, the only creatures from Starfall that he wouldn't look with alarm upon are probably the cats_ , Baelor thought before remembering that during the Conquest of Dorne, Starfall had been one of the most active places of resistance and of course, punishments and attempts of control. The local cats might have been rebels as well. He could only hope that the Whitewalls ones were not.

* * *

When Astrea saw what they had done to the boy, she wished she had given up to her ignoble impulses and kicked Lord Peake mightily. Ser Glendon's face was unrecognizable! Broken teeth, blood woozing from him eye, and this smell that made Astrea gag. The smell of roasted pig. Roasted human, in this case. She wished that he put his helmet on already because the sight of him almost made him weep, and also rave with anger. These cowards had dared do such a thing under a roof where she was present? So brazenly! She also felt guilty. Could she have tried to intervene on the boy's behalf, even with the risk to reveal that her mental capacity was far from insufficient? She smiled.

"Go and win," she said as her ladies cleaned his face – young Glendon would not have the Whitewalls maester and would only let Ser Duncan and Ser Kyle near. But he had let Astrea and her attendants come in as well. Not that he could have stopped them. "And then, you will have a place among my household knights. Who knows, you may rise to my sworn shield."

His healthy eye widened and the wounded one blinked rapidly, blood flowing faster. "A knight of a queen," he said softly. "I am still dreaming. What queen would make such a proposal to someone… someone like me?"

His boldness and self-confidence had slipped, revealing the raw hunger behind. She smiled. "This one. I am not what many expect to see in a queen either. Are you ready?"

He laughed shakily. "I can hardly become any readier."

 _He's going to lose_ , Astrea thought and looked at Ultor for help. Surely he could offer to be the boy's champion? Or she could order this to Ser Donnel. But when she mentioned it, all three of them stared at her in equal horror.

"There are some things a man should do on his own," the boy announced and his chin went up higher. Astrea could see his fear.

 _Like fall in the mud?_ she wondered but it was the Blackfyre boy who did the falling. As Ser Glendon was being helped to dismount, she felt the eyes of many on her. He had ridden with her favour and those who knew the truth about the dragon egg were no doubt started to wonder if their queen was capable of doing some thinking, after all. She could feel the general air of disheartening following Lord Peake's failure to be found and Lord Frey's departure. Good!

All of a sudden, an alarm sounded and Astrea looked up, enraged. What else could happen? Things had just started getting so very good!

"An army! An army!" the guards started shouting.

"I told you so," Astrea said to Lord Butterwell, who undoubtedly would have grown paler if he could have, and then she wondered whose hands she would fall into this time.

"The dragon! The three-headed dragon!" men shouted; Astrea was so relieved that her knees might have gone week, had she not been sitting.

"This is your chance to do make your fate easier," she told Lord Butterwell urgently. Who knew when one or more of these traitors would decide to make a last valiant stand?

He fell to his knees. "I appeal to your wisdom and generosity, Your Grace!" he cried and this was the signal for everyone but Daemon to lose heart. She actually felt sorry for the boy, especially when he made no move to threaten her, even in his despair. _Bittersteel has much to answer for_ , she thought in fury because she knew that there was no way for Baelor to let the boy go.

From the wall that no one stopped her from climbing, she saw the boy being surrounded, dragged from the saddle, led away. "He was dreaming of glory," she murmured, surprised to feel the tears in her eyes. "But it was never going to be glorious, would it have? Even if Baelor had indulged him. He would have finished him far easier than young Glendon defeated him."

"There was no glory at the Redgrass Field either," Ultor replied. "Only fools who were never there could conjure it. There was only necessity."

Astrea sighed and started the way back down, walking past a line of discouraged, stricken men to greet her lord husband. With some surprise, she realized that she had almost started running upon going through the gates, and upon seeing his face, slackened with relief, she felt that she had missed him more than she had known.

 


	13. A World of Grey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry that this chapter is so late.

"How did you come to this place, of all castles in the land?" Baelor asked as soon as he and his queen were left alone, almost immediately after his arrival. Behind their closed door, arguments flared, weeping could be heard, and someone had taken it upon themselves to explain what a punishment high treason merited.

"The storm brought me here. I had no idea that there was treason brewing here," Astrea said impatiently. "I already told you this. I was not _asking_ for trouble."

He did not take his suspicious look away. He had no doubt that she was telling the truth and this was exactly was troubled him. It was his duty to protect his lady wife and he always would but he could now see that his chivalric impulses that had been one of the reasons to choose her in the first play might turn out to be satisfied more often than he had, in fact, expected. There were people who somehow ended up having danger in a merry dance all around them through no fault of their own and his queen was one of them, it seemed. She did not look for trouble but trouble somehow always found her. Baelor wanted to wring her neck anyway, now that she was safe. Her way of rescuing, or almost rescuing herself felt like an insult and Astrea stiffened, feeling it. "What did Ser Roland tell you?" she demanded, pouring some wine for him and herself.

"That you refused to leave when you had the chance."

Astrea huffed. "I didn't," she said. "I just couldn't leave without my people. I was the one who brought them here; I would be the one responsible when…"

"Each one of them knows that giving their lives for you is part of their duty," Baelor said angrily, refusing the wine.

"Oh? Is this why you almost died in defence of a mere hedge knight? Because you were so focused on what people owed you, instead of what you owed them?"

Baelor waved an irritable hand. The grey day offered little light and even less warmth. Astrea shifted closer to the fireplace but he refused to follow, although he could feel the chill unpleasantly. "This was different," he said. "Astrea, you're the person who is closest to me," he added, surprised to hear the words and even more surprised to realize that they were true. "To me, you're more important than all retainers in the world. Take that as an order: you should not put yourself in the path of danger. Ever."

She was silent. She was no liar. Baelor suddenly remembered that even Jena, the most traditional lady wife ever, had refused to obey him at times, although she had done her thing and let him find out much later, when he could not stop her. And Flora who had shaped her life around his expectations had finally confronted him with the truth that she wanted more than he could give her. A family. But the memory no longer hurt this much. Somehow, along the way, he, Astrea and the girls had started turning into a family, kind of. How many of the women that had mattered in his life had been unfailingly obedient? He could not think of one. "Just be more careful," he said tiredly, suddenly recognizing one of the reasons that had helped him feel her close. Like him, Astrea still held on some ideals, as foolish as they might seem. Like cutting her expenses so much as to actually end the year with a gain. "Are you still cold?" he asked, taking her hands in his own. He could feel that he was proud of her already, his courageous, idealistic little wife.

She let him take her hands in his and smiled. "Now, I'm not."

* * *

Whitewalls waited them to emerge with bated breath or as Maekar put it, half of the people thought Baelor would beat his wayward queen and the other half betted that she would have him forgive her in the way women had been using since the beginning of time. It felt strange to be the subject of such assumptions and it made him once again feel how much work there was before Dorne was fully accepted into the realm as one of the kingdoms and not the other. No one would have thought Jena one prone to female wiles, although she had been far more influential with him than Astrea.

"It was about time!" Maekar said by the way of greeting. Baelor raised an eyebrow, wondering what had managed to sour his brother's temper in such a short period of time. Aegon was an option but the boy was nowhere near… wait! His nephew was just approaching Astrea and they started an animated conversation, their heads close together – Astrea did not need to lean this much for this. Baelor immediately felt uneasy.

"Don't worry," Maekar said gruffly. "I don't think they're going to try something. You may want to give Ser Roland some time to rest, though. He's had enough of Daynes for the time being… and yes, I do include my son in this, sadly."

Baelor was astounded at his brother's complete lack of self-awareness. In the beginning of Ser Roland's time in the Kingsguard, he had been watching young Maekar as distrustfully as he did Aegon now. Did Maekar not remember, or had he tried to forget? The second option saddened Baelor but there was no time for this.

"You've been waiting for me?" he asked.

"Indeed. I came in this antechamber because no one in this castle seems to grasp that I have no authority to tell them what's going to happen to them. And the ones that beg me to put in a good word for them are the ones I'm least inclined to do it for," Maekar added.

Baelor listened to Lord Butterwell's bleating at the other side of the door and understood. _So, Lord Ambrose has finally managed to put Maekar to flight_ , he thought, amused _. Of course, now I'll have to take him instead._ Now, this was not amusing at all.

"Let's go," he sighed.

The windows at the long side of the great hall let some dusky light in. The walls Baelor could see from his place at the dais did not look white but grey. A good day for passing judgment, he thought grimly. He was never eager for the experience but even so, when he saw the vast expanse that the servants had hastily stripped of all tables, benches, and tapestries to turn it into his courtroom, the memory of the sentences his father had passed in the throne room after Daemon's fall sprang to such vivid life that for the first time, he truly felt what he was dealing with. Not a token rebellion, no. Daemon's ghost had risen once again, starting an era of new disturbances, greed, and death…

"Summon the Queen," he told one of his men.

There would be no mercy. Not this time. They had tried it once and see where it had brought them! Let the world see what they had – a Dornish-looking king, a pure Dornishwoman for queen, and royal punishment when warranted. Anything less would be interpreted as bowing to the rumours and instigations the malcontents had started. It would be seen as acknowledging their reasons.

"What?" Maekar asked. "Aren't you coming?"

Baelor startled before realizing that this time, his brother was not addressing him. Ultor Dayne shook his head. "No."

"Why?" Baelor and Maekar asked simultaneously. "Don't tell me that you've started to care what they say about you?" Maekar went on but despite his derision, there was a gruff note of affection in his voice, after all those years.

"I care," Ultor replied and then he went on without mincing words, "The two of you might be keen of proving that Dorne will have a voice in important decisions no matter what but I have no interest to further the slanders against my compatriots even more. We have to live the consequences of the rumours, you know. Raids and trade, and other dull things."

Baelor felt ashamed because it was true, he had intended to push Dorne into everyone's eyes to teach them a lesson without giving a thought to anyone other than himself. He nodded that his goodbrother could leave and Ultor did so, immediately.

Astrea entered, trailed by two ladies. Aegon walked next to her, both trying not to shake. Like many castles, Whitewalls did not have plastered walls and with the stripping of the tapestries, draughts had started to invade. Baelor ordered a brazier for her and she extended her hands over it gratefully as he ordered to bring the first traitor before them.

"It was a conspiracy against me as much as it was against the Iron Thone!" Lord Butterwell started. It would have sounded better if his chin was not shaking so hard that the words came out twisted. "And Her Grace promised me her protection!"

Baelor looked at Astrea who nodded. "This was my promise before he agreed to open the gates," she said. "I beg you for mercy, my lord husband. This man is a traitor but his treachery was borne out of idleness and choosing the easy way, rather than true hatred for the Iron Throne and actual plotting. He will be no threat – he doesn't have the will to bright himself together and concoct a plan to do us true harm. I beg you to be merciful."

"I will be," Baelor said because he could not shame his new wife with such a huge disrespect as invalidating her word. "I'll be merciful for you, my lady, but I assure you, he won't be in position to do any harm from now on."

Easier said than done! What should he say now? How would Brynden have acted? In his mind's eye, Baelor saw the white face and the single glinting red eye. "One out of ten," he could almost hear Brynden Rivers say. "One out of ten."

I'll let him keep one tenth of his fortune, Baelor decided. Enough to live kind of decently but he'll never be a factor again and threaten me or mine. His intuition borne out of so many disappointments showed him the true meaning of Astrea's slight movements, the distant look that someone invaded her eyes, the hand she had placed on her belly before his mind could make the connection. Only much later, as moon in her bedchamber where he had been installed as well streamed silver behind her, crowning her head with a halo, she gave him the news that she now had the Fireball's alleged son, a boy from a brothel, in her household , adding that she needed to reiterate it to the new addition because it seemed not to have believed her the first time round, he realized what she was not telling him. Perhaps she was not sure yet. And he did not want to ask. He did not know which answer he feared more, that she was not with child or that she was. He had been through so much heartache and disappointment that he did not even know how he would feel at either case.

 


	14. Two Faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented, your interest keeps me driven to write further!

Kiera of Tyrosh had arrived in a brilliant day of pearly spring unfurling wings of growth and hope; at her leaving, a glaring summer sun beat cruelly into eyes and turned clothes damp with sweat in less than an hour, the houses and septs bleached with heat, the fields beyond scorched and black as peasants rushed to harvest while it was still eatable. But the leaving young woman did not look as affected as the rest of the court and for the first time since the earliest days of her arrival, Baelor was reminded that she came from lands that were much hotter, that this was what she had grown up with. She wore proper mourning to suit the occasion but Baelor knew that mere weeks ago, in the Tyroshi retinue that had come to take her, there had been seamstresses hurrying to make her as many attires in her native style as they could. Her olive face was no longer as pale as death and there was spring to her step. She had wept bitterly at Vallar's death and even more at the perfectly formed but dead babes that had been barely wrenched out of her womb in time to save her life but youth had done a lot of healing, Baelor thought as she swept him a final curtsey.

"I wish you a better fate than the one you found here, child," he said, sure that this would be the case. After all, what could be worse?

"Thank you, Your Grace," she said. "On my part, I'll do all I can to neutralize any influence Lady Rohanne and Aegor Rivers hold in Tyrosh, you have my word." She paused. "I have to admit I was concerned about you, since you've always been so good to me. But I can see you're in good hands now," she added, looking from Astrea to the girls. When her gaze fell on Daeron, though, her face went dark. He shrugged apologetically.

Maekar had seen it as well. "What did you tell her?" he asked when Kiera's retinue had left the Red Keep and the court was dispersing.

Daeron shrugged. "I dreamed of a blizzard chasing after its own tail. She seems to take this to mean that she'd return here one day and she quite dislikes the notion." He glanced at Aurelia Dayne. "For some reason, she holds it against me and not the one who actually opened her mouth and told her."

Aurelia looked mildly apologetic. "I had no idea she took your dreams seriously." Now, she looked abashed. "And it never occurred to me that she would decide this one was about her. That's what I am – a babbler. I just didn't think that she…"

Daeron grinned. "But you're my favourite babbler," he said magnanimously and she smiled back.

Baelor, however, paid little attention to their antics. His thoughts were on his gooddaughter and her clear recovery and his mind made an unwelcome, shameful comparison to how Maekar had looked for well over a year after Dyanna's death – not dead, just not quite alive. It was true, then, that people painted different people with different strokes. He _had_ wanted Kiera to recover and yet when she had done so, he felt something akin to resentment. He wanted her to be happy and still, this prospect saddened him even when Astrea's presence in his life made his day brighter. Joyful. So, he found it just right to be content when Valarr was dead but he refused to grant Kiera the same courtesy? _Am I applying different standards for myself and my brother, on one side, and Kiera, on the other_ , he wondered and had to admit that yes, he was.

"Did you get it off your chest?" Astrea asked a few hours later as she watched him hone his blades obsessively, one by one, check the tips of his spears, examine his armour.

He looked at her and snorted a grim laugh. "I'll have to do a lot more work to get it off my chest," he said. Today, he had left the Small Council deal on its own. Instead, he had found active things to do – letting his queen with the already curving belly with him watch his not quite calm behavior. "You don't have to sit here and hold my hand, you know," he added, angry with himself and with her for being so careless. Surely it could not be good for the babe to have his mother watching his father doing… what? What did Astrea think of him and the way he was behaving? Nothing on her face showed it.

"You've done it for me so many times," she replied. "Don't tell me what I have or don't have to do," she replied. "I'm the one who makes this decision. And I happen to know something of fretting and fuming over other people doing better while you're still trapped in a spring that you can't escape…"

Baelor left the sword on the carpet, carefully. "Is this what I'm doing?" he asked.

She nodded. "She was happy that she was leaving, I think," she said. "Truly happy . She had left the past behind. And everyone could see it. It's only natural for this to irk you."

Was it? Baelor supposed that the girl had never been happy here but then again, Valarr had not been wildly happy with her either. He had never been in love with her. Leaving such a marriage behind was a natural thing to do but for Baelor, it was another thing making his son unreal. A pale wraith that only came back in dreams – Baelor's.

Astrea did not wave him close and he was grateful. Right now, he did not want to touch her… or the child already living under her skin. It was enough that she was here, with her parchments and pens.

"What are you doing?" he asked, just to keep the conversation going, but her answer surprised him.

"I'm examining the projects that the architects created for me. This lot near the Great Sept that you gifted me upon our wedding? I'm thinking of building a school. A home of learning – no, I don't mean a school for children," she added quickly. "As I was growing up, I was a little disturbed that the learning in Starfall was so very dependent on what the Citadel decided to send us – _who_ the Citadel decided to send us."

Baelor gaped at her. "You intend to create competition for the maesters!"

She smiled in a veiled way. "No, no. How could I ever hope for my little institution to compete with the might of the order? I only want to have someone else to rely on as well… someone closer to us… an institution whose procedures will be clear and not veiled in mystery…"

"In other words, competition for the maesters," Baelor concluded. "This is… this is the maddest idea I've ever heard of! Do you want to push us into a war like the one that Aenys and Maegor led with the Faith?"

"Of course not," Astrea replied. "And I have no intention to have my school try and displace the Citadel. In fact, I intend to invite maesters to teach there – both ones sent by the Citadel on its own choice and some that I will negotiate with the Citadel to send me because I want them."

"Why?" Baelor asked but even as he spoke, he wondered why it had never occurred to him that the maesters were as much of a unity within the unity of Westeros as the Faith was. He really needed to rethink his instinctual rejection of Astrea's idea. Perhaps it could work if implemented carefully?

Her expression became subdued. "Because I don't trust them to make objective assessment of which learning is worthy to be studied," she said straightforwardly. "When my sister – one of the highest-ranking ladies in the land! – became so ill, it was not a maester who helped her live for eight more years. Because maesters did not deem these women's ailments important enough to study excessively. And the maester at Starfall… the three of us were good at what he was good at and we still have lapses where he did. I like it not. I think we depend on the maesters much more than we ever did on the Faith and I… I'm no longer trustful. Of anyone."

He felt this like a pang in the heart – for her, for himself. He came over and took her hand. "Do you not trust me?"

She looked up. A faint smile lit her pale face. "I do. I think you're the only one I trust with… everything."

He knew that she meant the bed, for leading her body to trust him was not something he could do on the same level as he could do with her mind. He considered his success a real, deeply felt triumph.

"Then why didn't you tell me you've hired architects already? Why this is the first time I hear of this project at all?"

Astrea looked surprised. "You never asked."

"That's true," he admitted and while he found himself thinking of her idea in more and more positive light, he was relieved that there was no way for it to be realized within the next few years. Not with the funds she had at her disposal.

The further Astrea's belly swelled, the greater her fears became. She tried to keep them hidden but Baelor could see them – and the vultures could smell them, it seemed. The old story about Astrea's smothered babe spread just around the time her belly went lower and the preparations for the birth started in full force. Baelor wanted to strangle the words in everyone's throat as he watched his tiny daring queen get paler and more reckless, plan obsessively how many people would stay in her chamber all the time and relive the shock of her past almost every night and increasingly often, during the day as well – and that was if and when he managed to ignore his own fears and memories.

"She doesn't look good," Maekar only said when Astrea's absence from the evening feast was discussed and the moderate words scared Baelor even more because those were the words of a man who had watched his wife go through childbearing and childbirth when she had been already very unwell to start with.

Astrea wanted the children around her constantly, plagued by unreasonable panic about their wellbeing and the girls showed remarkable maturity for their tender age by staying with her for long periods of time. But they were now a little scared of her, Baelor had heard. Heard and not seen because, as unfortunate as it was, he had little time for Astrea and even less for the girls. One of the few times he did, he had his first marital discord.

"You ended the year with balance in hand?" he asked, incredulous. "How did you do it?"

"I told you I would," she replied. "Limiting the number of gowns and yes, the offices and wages in my household worked wonders."

 _And also explains the scale of the attacks against your character_ , Baelor thought. Losing profitable offices and part of the money they had received under his mother would certainly breed bitterness in those accustomed to Mariah's largesse. He was not sure how he felt about his new wife suddenly exhibiting traits that were more common for a parsimonious merchant's wife than queen. Her bold plans had endeared her to him – this certainly did not, especially when…

"And you didn't think to help me?" he demanded. "You knew the treasury was struggling!"

Astrea looked at him, unabashed. "I thought a Queen's income was just this – a Queen's. Did you not give it to me to meet my needs? Did I not manage to fit all my expenses, including the charities and the foundation of the school you thought I would not? Why should I give anything back to the treasury when you had decided that this was the sum the treasury could do without? When you managed to avoid taking a loan?"

"Because it would have been nice to know I had funds I could rely on!"

"Well, you now have them," Astrea snapped back, her hand trembling nervously next to her body. "Did you somehow miss that I have _returned_ the extra to the realm?"

"I am not talking about this!"

"Then what were you talking about? Did you mean that I should have given back everything that was not needed for my personal expenses? Do you think I should have given up on my plans to further yours? I thought you wanted a queen, not another limb attached to your body to use on your convenience!"

She had turned deathly white, her breathing had quickened and the pulse was dancing in her throat, almost like a man's Adam's apple. She looked like an enraged little man at-arms… or a panting whale. Deep inside, Baelor understood her reasons but he had been truly pressed. If she had failed to meet her expenses, he would have smiled affectionately but her business side and her striving for independent plans felt like a blow. He had wanted someone to protect and he had expected that he'd get full loyalty in return. Support. Aligning her plans with his. Instead, he would likely get problems with the Citadel because he had foolishly told her she could go on with her school, reckoning that he'd have a few years to think it through before she could raise the funds…

Her face twisted and he stopped his angry pacing, crossed the solar in two strides, took her hands. "What is it? What's going on?"

She did not answer at once but when she did, the anger had left her face just like it had left his heart. "What's going on, my lord? Why, I think it's your son's birth."

And for a moment, just for a moment Baelor wished she had not tempted fate so.

 


	15. Crimson Streaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented. You're pure gold, you know.

A birth starting a few days before the date estimated by the maesters was not anything to worry about and Astrea entered the birthing chamber eager and confident. "I can't say he has chosen a bad day to arrive," she jested as women and maesters were gathering around her and she demanded that someone open the windows because this crowd made the heat worse.

"If it's a son, Your Grace," Rhaegel's Alys said reasonably and Astrea glared.

"It's a son," she stated with certainty that Baelor could not fathom but wanted to believe anyway – and not because of the realm alone. He had assured Astrea that he did not fear the terrible disease that had cut Dyanna's lifethread in her prime and at the time, he had believed it wholeheartedly. Now, though… he did not want a girl.

"Will you keep me company for a cup of tea?" Astrea asked and Baelor stared.

"Tea? Now?"

She waved a hand. "Things won't start getting serious before sunset, at least, so I'd rather not spend the day in the birthing bed. I'll spend enough time there anyway… and I'm not looking up to it. But I can see you won't feel comfortable so I'll have it with some ladies instead. My mother, your mother… I suppose I'll have to invite Alys as well," she said reluctantly, for despite the amicable relationship between the two, she still held a grudge over Alys' assumption that the babe might not be a boy. "It'll do Aurelia some good to see that there's no need to panic before the real work actually starts."

She talked lightly, but in her eyes, the horror was alive, dancing with monsters and memories. All of Baelor's irritation with her from an hour ago was now gone. He only saw her as the brave young woman who had come to seek justice from him.

"Enjoy your time of tea and gossiping," he said. "All will be well, you know. You do this as easily as I aim my spear."

She laughed. "I'll take care to remember this!"

In the hours that followed, his words were justified. Until the very end. When the end would not come. It just would not.

Baelor's spear had not always brought him the victory.

He could not say when the air shifted. When everyone started waiting for a terrible end and not a robust heir to arrive any moment now. As the night advanced, most of the court grew too tired and decided that they would hear the news in the morning anyway. Weariness was… well, wearing even the morbid curiosity of the Red Keep.

"Do take a walk," Maekar said curtly. "You're doing yourself no service. This is the most terrible waiting in the world."

Baelor glanced at him and felt his mouth curl. "Worse than the waiting at the Redgrass Field?"

"Infinitely worse. Go out and walk some. Clear your head. If something happens, we'll find you and let you know."

So Baelor left Astrea's chambers and went out in the Queen's Garden, passing by people who milled around, their eyes going up to the windows behind which the lights in Astrea's chambers burned. The two Kingsguard trailing him had made him recognizable due to their white cloaks, so a path opened before him wherever he went. He took in the oppressive heat with the faint but heavy smell of flowers and bushes that the sun had parched despite the best efforts of the castle gardeners. A crescent moon threw a faint silver line over the thick walls. For first time in years, Baelor found himself marveling at how life and green could bloom here, within Maegor's thick, bloodied walls.

Bloodied… and once again, he looked at Astrea's windows, just as brightly lit as before but this time, there was no one silhouetted against the curtains while just a moment ago, there had been at least three people. Fear cut him like a blade, swift, searing… A flock of ravens passed overhead, dark wings fluttering, and Baelor remembered that those were not just couriers of highborn but also servants of the Stranger…

But here! Astrea screamed again, a scream that rose into a shriek tearing at the night, with nothing human to it. She had long ago given up on any attempts to preserve dignity. Baelor sighed with temporary relief and startled when he heard the voices from the other side of the bush.

"We should go back," Aurelia Dayne said.

"Why?" Daeron asked. "She's still fighting. She's done this four times before. She'll do it again. And we aren't needed. No one is going to look for us. Do you truly want to go back?"

"No," the girl admitted. Baelor could feel her hesitation like a stir in the air before she asked, "Do you think it's true? That she overlay her babe and smothered him?"

"I don't know," Daeron replied. "Why do you think _I_ would?"

"Because, out of everyone I know you're the only one who…"

Daeron cut her off. The anger in his voice was so raw that Baelor almost rounded the bush to check if it was truly his nephew, for Daeron might have many flaws but swift anger was not one of them. "You thought you'd ask the mummer of the Red Keep, didn't you? Sorry to disappoint a fine lady such as yourself but my dreams don't come to me in the form of an eye peeking in other people's lives. They aren't enjoyable – and they aren't something I like to gossip about."

"I'm sorry." Aurelia's voice was shaking. "I didn't mean it like this. I know that for you, this is a torture, I know. I just…"

"Yes?" Baelor had only ever heard Daeron's voice so hostile when he was addressing Aerion.

"I was so resentful." The girl was now speaking so softly that Baelor could barely hear her – which was a good thing, probably, because he had no business eavesdropping anyway. "She ruined my life, you know, just so she could wed for love."

Baelor expected of Daeron to say that Aurelia's life was not ruined but the boy was silent.

Aurelia went on in a rush. "And then what? I'm still waiting for a child to grow up and she wed again – to the King, no less! And he's always so gentle with her, and she got to give birth again while I'll likely have my first child at the age she's now – with her fifth! It wasn't fair!"

"I know." All the anger had disappeared from Daeron's voice. "So you thought that if she had truly smothered her son, that would have been something like… justice?"

"I don't know. It was something that I've considered. But it wasn't real. I never really thought she might have done it. People love to make lies about highborn all the time. But… she might have done it, you know. She might have just gone to sleep. As she may now…"

"No," Daeron interrupted her, his voice dark and full of monsters. "She won't. As long as she's screaming, she's fighting. It's the quiet ones that should scare you."

Aurelia's words were now so quiet that Baelor could not make them out – which he should not be doing anyway.

At this moment, the light behind Astrea's window turned a hundred times brighter and her scream must have reached the foot of Aegon's Hill, a prolonged howl that lasted for eternity, and when it finally stopped, the light turned into a net of shards as everyone in the birthing chamber burst into motion…

Baelor turned and ran back, his heart pounding so hard that he could not hear anything else.

* * *

Silver-white, this new prince was, taking after his mother and looking more Targaryen than Baelor himself. He was glad, because that would save his son some of the hardships that had stood in his own way. Silver-white and howling loudly. What more could he want? And yet the memory of leaning over another cradle in which the firstborn that another woman had given him slept haunted him since the very first moment the relief that both Astrea and Gaemon were alive had settled in. Then, the party returning from Dorne, a month after Redgrass Field and the little bundle in Jena's arms… She had fought and won her battle as he had fought and won his...

Who could say from his beaming face that the old wound had started throbbing once again? Would his happiness be forever streaked with pain that would not go away, rising just when he thought he had managed to leave it in the past?

"How are you?" he asked, going to Astrea's bed and doing his best to hide his consternation.

Labour had… soaked all the colour off her, turning her face into a translucent map of the red and blue lines underneath. Her lips were white and bitten all over and when she tried to smile, the effort proved too great. Astrea, a healthy, experienced mother who had one this round as well looked worse than Jena ever had in her losses. "Fine," she said; had Baelor not seen the words on her lips, he would have never heard them. He reached over and took her hand.

"Thank you," he said softly but with a deep feeling.

"Take him out," Astrea whispered and went to sleep before Baelor could assure her that he would. Her mother hurried over to the bedside, the maesters rushed over and Baelor strode out because sleep might be the greatest danger to new mothers but sleep deprivation was considered torture for a reason. He felt that he simply could not watch.

* * *

"What happened?" Baelor asked as the just awoken court was surging towards the great hall and all the bells of the Great Sept were ringing. "What went wrong, Mother?"

Mariah's smile disappeared. "Everything was going on just the way it should," she said. "Until he started descending and could not. His head was tilted to one side ever so slightly. Sometimes, throes flatten it enough to fit. That was what happened at Maekar's birth. But not today. At the end, they had to go elbow-deep to try and turn it right. I really thought they would both die. By the grace of the Seven is he intact. One of his eyes could have been…" She shuddered.

Bile rose to Baelor's throat; he barely managed to keep his dinner in. The guards at the entrance of his apartments stepped aside and he let his mother go in before him.

Someone had left wine in his solar. He looked at Mariah. "Do you want some?"

She shook her head. Baelor did not feel like drinking either. He went to the window and stared out into the night that the celebrations had turned into a bright day, with torches burning everywhere and music already starting. Still, it was a night and Baelor thanked the Seven for this small mercy. The world would have to wait a few hours to see little Gaemon – both babe and mother could use the rest! He turned around. "Are you sure she's fine?"

Mariah hesitated. "I don't know. She didn't pass out during the… procedure… and they managed to staunch the bleeding. For now, I'd say she's fine. But birth has a way of doing things to women. Time would tell. I'm simply grateful that she survived."

"So am I," Baelor said absent-mindedly, marveling at how the Seven had decided not to take it all from him once again. _We're truly just playthings in their hands_ , he thought. All the way through, Astrea had been thriving, only to have such a tiny thing as a tiny head tilted slightly askew to almost crush her.

"He is lovely," Mariah commented, her eyes shining. "I expected that he'd come out much more bruised. Maekar was blue and his eye was swollen shut. But Gaemon is perfect."

"He is." Baelor's voice sounded strange in his own ears and he was not surprised when his mother gave him a troubled look.

"Is it ever going to stop?" he asked, very softly, and turned to his mother. "Even today, they haunt me. Is it going to _end_?"

Mariah hesitated. "Eventually, it will. But not entirely. It's never entirely…" she trailed off, her voice a mere thread. She hated seeing him like this, hated that even in the days of his greatest joy, pain would find a way to leave crimson streaks.

Ever since those first days when they had all moved like in a dream and seen the world through the haze of stunned pain, he had thrown himself in work and kept busy, escaping the pain in the concerns about the realm, keeping everyone at bay. Somehow, Astrea had broken through this wall – but Astrea had barely managed to keep herself from going through the Stranger's door. Right now, she was a source of another concern and not a comfort.

"Come here," Mariah said in a low voice and somewhat to her surprise, he did, holding her tight, as he had used to do when he had been a child in need of comfort. She held him back. No words were needed, so neither of them spoke.

From the King's windows, the brightly lit halls in which the world was celebrating the birth of the future King looked like tiny balls of fire.

 


	16. Black Like Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented, you're all precious.

**Black Like Sin**

In his joy and sadness provoked by Gaemon's birth, Baelor needed some time – over a month – to realize that there was something very wrong with Astrea. She had fulfilled her duty in just a year, providing the realm with a healthy heir to everyone's relief. Her recovery was smooth enough that the Grand Maester told Baelor that he could resume his relations with her in mere five weeks after the birth. The rumours about her suffocated babe faded, for no one would now tolerate to have the woman who had just given the realm hope and promise for the future badly spoken of. The presents for mother and child from all over the realm and abroad kept piling in her chambers.

And… piling. Unopened. Because Astrea showed no interest in finding out what they were. Sometimes, she allowed her ladies to open them and other times, she did not even hear the question, her eyes staring right ahead, at the far wall that was always one and the same because she could not muster the will to leave her bed even to take a bath. Why, she often lacked the will to raise her arms to be towel-bathed in bed! She constantly fretted over Gaemon's safety but she rarely touched him, except for feeds which left her weeping and with aching nipples. She wept constantly or almost constantly, over such a thing as pouring some wine over herself when her hand could not withstand the weight of her goblet and equally abundantly, for the boys that she had lost and that she wanted these boys and not Gaemon. Even the girls were scared of her and avoided her and this was what opened Baelor's eyes to the fact that what was going on was something very bad indeed.

"I was hoping that it was not so," his mother said when he finally sought her out. "It happens to many women after giving birth but it usually disappears soon enough. I hoped it would with Astrea as well."

"Well, it hasn't this far," Baelor snapped, angry that he had not been appraised. "So it isn't supposed to last this long?" He had had similar experiences with Jenna but it had always been after yet another miscarriage. After both of their children's births, she had been ecstatic – and he had been as well.

"Sometimes, it does," Mariah said tiredly. "It lasted over a year for me after Maekar's birth but I was in a bad place anyway – the war with Dorne, the too early birth and the fear that he might not survive…" She paused to give him time to realize that it had been hard for Astrea as well. "Give her time, Baelor. Be gentle with her. This is the only advice I can give you. Try to renew her interest in the things that used to interest her before."

But Astrea was incapable of feeling proper interest even in her children. Still, Baelor did his best but even the mentioning of her school and that he was now gathering the architects who could start with the building could not move her.

"Should I abandon this project?" he wondered. It was not his project, it would only create frictions with the Citadel and if Astrea was no longer interested, what was the sense?

"No," Maekar replied shortly and at seeing his brother's uncomprehending eyes sighed. "The cat is already out of the bag," he said. "Astrea didn't hide her intentions and you kept developing them. Even if you stop the project now, the Citadel will keep being wary of you. A son in the Citadel, remember?" he added dryly before Baelor could ask him how he knew this much about the Citadel. "There are those who are thrilled with her idea, by the way," he finished.

Baelor was genuinely surprised. "There are?" he asked and belatedly realized that his idea of the Citadel as a monolithic block was, in fact, quite naïve. Even the maesters he had known as young had come from all fractions in the Citadel. For the first time, Baelor wondered how his father had worked his way to have so differing views sent to him.

Spies in the Citadel. He was not a learned man like Aerys but he wondered who, exactly, did his brother, Brynden and of course, Shiera kept correspondence with. He had seen all of them in Astrea's company lately, in fact…

"Of course you have," Maekar said when Baelor shared this revelation. "Your queen isn't stupid. And this isn't a bad idea, this school of hers. Not bad at all."

"So, you don't think it's a whim?" Baelor asked. "Something that she'd grow bored with?"

Maekar looked surprised. "Of course not," he said and gave him a long, considering look. "What? You mean that _you_ think so?"

"I said no such thing," Baelor protested and looked away. To his relief, his brother didn't press the issue further and instead spoke of other things.

Astrea, though, was far less convinced than him. "Of course he thinks so," she said bitterly when Baelor told her about this conversation. "He hates me. He always has. He thinks me a stupid child who shamed him and Dyanna – that was why he didn't even give me the chance to say goodbye!"

"Say goodbye to whom?" Baelor asked. "Dyanna? He did not let you see Dyanna one last time?"

But Astrea did not hear him. She started weeping again, leaving Baelor to wonder how his intention to cheer her up had led to such grievous results. He left her chambers, calling for the maesters but even as he did so, he remembered their last conversation before Gaemon's birth, when she had not been lost to herself yet. "Maesters did not deem women's ailments as worthy of being studied excessively," she had said and he knew that this state of hers was a women's ailment as well. One that simply happened to new mothers sometimes. Simply happened and was accepted, not studied and treated.

"I want this school functioning as soon as possible," he told the Small Council the very next day and if anyone had any doubts that this was a whim of his, no one said so.

"It will be my honour to send the best minds of the Citadel to organize this," the Grand Maester said and while Baelor did not outright refuse him, he delayed the unpleasant clarification saying that the Queen would discuss it with everyone concerned when the building was ready, and immediately after felt that he was hiding behind his wife's skirts… The feeling was not a good one.

"I think you should start it without waiting for Astrea to get better," Aerys said just a few hours later. "I think this school of hers will be a great gift to learning and… all else."

All else? The Crown's own position? Or Aerys' own thirst for knowledge? He would be pleased if he did not have to rely on ravens to carry his message to the maesters at the Citadel, undoubtedly…

"It will be a gift to her." Shiera's eyes glittered with hunger that belied the docility in her voice. Her thirst for knowledge was no smaller than Aerys'.

Brynden did not say a thing but nodded. Baelor already knew that Maekar had granted many dragons for this project of Astrea's and was stunned at this unprecedented accord in the ranks of his family. An achievement worthy of queen, indeed! Not that his own queen would appreciate it right now.

"I'm sorry," she said when he told her about the reactions her enterprise had started. "I should have known it wouldn't work. You should have wed someone who knew her place, you know. Someone who would be pleased to be a lady wife and never bring troubles with her ideas. Like your lady of the riverlands."

It took him a moment to realize that she meant Flora. He had rarely thought about his onetime mistress but now, he felt content that she had found her place. Just not with him. Which made him wonder when he had accepted Astrea's place in his life and Astrea herself, just as she was. When he had seen the reasoning behind her plans? When she had given him a family of his own once again? What an irony! Just when he had accepted her with all the things that she did, she had changed. Just two months ago, she would have felt that he was proud of her, that he was complimenting her. _It's the ailment talking, not Astrea_ , Baelor tried to comfort himself but if she did not get better soon, there would be little difference.

"The whispers have already started," Brynden told him just a week later. "That the Queen is trying to displace the Citadel and reduce the maesters to having to beg their food by the side of the road."

This was so ludicrous that Baelor laughed. But worry stayed with him like a finely-tipped lance. Finely-tipped and poison-soaked… He could do little to dispel the rumours unless Astrea took the matters in her own hands but she was still unable to show herself in public, declare her true intentions and start working on them.

When he had wrapped this cloak around her shoulders, he had promised to protect her and he could not. His daily ride lasted for over three hours today, leaving both him and his steed foaming at the mouth. As he crossed the Red Keep to Maegor's Holdfast under a half-moon that clouds revealed and concealed like a blinking eye, he saw Daeron and Aurelia Dayne in each other's arms in the same garden where he had heard them talk in the night of Gaemon's birth. This was too much for him and he decided that he needed to have a serious conversation with his nephew in the morning – first thing in the morning before Daeron could see the bottom of his cup again – but he forgot all about this when at the door of Astrea's antechamber, he saw Fireball's supposed son, the not-quite-handsome Ser Glendon Flowers lose his balance and fall against a maester who was just entering with a salver with herbs and potions that fell straight on the floor. The boy started apologizing profusely but Baelor had seen his eyes. This lad who trailed Astrea like a shadow was anything but clumsy. And he had spent his entire life socializing with brigands of all sorts.

And he did not want to let Astrea have these potions and ointments.

No, she needed to get better. As soon as possible.

 


End file.
